Let the Games Begin!
by LunaStorm
Summary: Terence 'Terry' Boot was an ordinary bloke. So why – why? – did he find himself in this mess? Where the hell had they ended up to? Just who were these Shadow Court members? And how could Potter, Malfoy, Granger and Longbottom be so calm about it all!
1. One

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

_A/N: This is WILDLY AU. Especially when it comes to the Yugioh universe: I have taken canon, twisted, turned, molded, changed it and reworked it entirely for my own purposes. Plus, I've taken some ideas from other fics, though they are all reworked as well.  
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_By and large, however, you can assume events from Yugioh canon happened mostly the same way, even if the reasons and explanations for them, and the mechanics of Shadow Magic, are slightly (or greatly) different. This fic takes place several years after the Dawn Duel arc, anyway, and as I already mentioned, it is AU. _

_For the Harry Potter gang, everything is canon up until the fic begins, sometime in the spring of Harry's fifth year.  
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><p>Terence 'Terry' Boot was an ordinary bloke.<p>

He was 15 years old, attended a boarding school, liked to hang out with his mates, fought with his brother a lot and didn't have many worries.

His appearance was rather unremarkable: neither fat nor fit, neither tall nor short, neither too pale nor too tanned. He had boring brown hair, which he always kept short, and dark brown eyes, that his former girlfriend had declared 'very expressive'.

Like so many other blokes his age, he had a fascination for fast motorbikes, hung pictures of top-models over his bed but had a secret crush on shy-but-cute Sally-Anne from his class, was rather proud of his good grades but still preferred comics to history and could eat much more than he should reasonably be able to stomach, especially in terms of sweets.

Like not so many other teenagers, he happened to be a wizard and was currently enrolled in his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; a fact which had come as a bit of a shock to his so far non-magical family, but that in the end didn't mean much.

Sure his boarding school was less dull (and more hazardous) than most others and doing real magic could be rather thrilling; but Transfiguration essays were just as bothersome as Biology ones and magical homework was neither easier than the standard version nor less stressing when it was due the following day.

Besides, he was as obsessed with his favourite team (the Ballycastle Bats, third in the League) as his muggle cousin was with his (Manchester United, second in the run for the Cup), despite the fact that his heroes played on flying brooms with four balls, rather than on foot with only one.

His main concerns were very normal ones: girls, sports, and the teachers' unreasonable demands on sacred spare time.

All in all, he was a standard bloke, with a standard life.

So why – _why!_ – did he find himself in this mess?

Of all the absurd, uncomfortable, upsetting things…

Why him?

He never did anything to deserve this, he was sure of it. The Fates were cruel indeed!

He glanced around.

On his left, pale slick elegance only marred by the arrogance and maliciousness conveyed by the ever present smirk: Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Silver Prince, _arbiter elegantiae_ of the school, by general feminine consensus the most gorgeous underage wizard in Britain and all around nasty jerk, as usual glaring balefully at his rival.

On his right, impossibly messy black hair and impossibly sparkling green eyes, shining even through the frumpy glasses: the Gryffindor Golden Boy, Harry Potter, hero, seeker extraordinaire, clueless mystifying bloke and Knight in Shining Armour of every teenage witch's dreams, predictably glaring back.

Now, this stand-off in itself was nothing unusual or surprising.

Those two had been at each other's throat from day one and their confrontations were fairly common, not to mention, rather enjoyable; loud and unpredictable, the two made for a highly appreciated live show, with no need for tickets (not that the Weasley Twins hadn't tried selling some).

In fact, it was a common practice among the Hogwarts students to arrange their paths between classes in such a way that they crossed all of the expected 'meeting points', in the hope of catching the fireworks once the two got their ever-fresh fighting going.

Terry's favourite this year was the sun-lit second-floor corridor where inescapably, once a week, the Gryffindor Defence class ran into the Slytherin Arithmancy one, very conveniently just outside the room where Terry himself and his fellow Ravenclaws were gathering for Charms.

Too bad said corridor seemed to have inexplicably disappeared: there was no longer any sunlight around them – and it wasn't a case of sudden blindness, no.

That would have been somewhat expected.

Oftentimes the unpredictability of these 'shows' resulted in the spectators being granted a rather more lively experience than they wished, courtesy to stray curses, exploded debris flying around and the like. Truth be told, it wasn't at all odd for a student or three to find themselves chatting away in the hospital wing, under the label 'collateral victims'. A fair few nice friendships had started that way, Terry could attest to that.

There were even some fools, like those Creevey brothers from Gryffindor, who claimed such happenings as a sort of honour; Terry of course was far from this kind of fanatical nonsense, but he too had had his turn of being hit by a teeth-lengthening hex meant for Potter, and a ricocheting knee-reversal jinx…

Terry knew all too well that Malfoy didn't care in the least about 'side-effects'; he had always thought that Potter didn't care either. After all, why would the two most popular blokes of their generation bother to pay attention to 'lowly' common students?

Joining Potter's Defence Association the previous October, however, had opened his eyes to the fact that the Gryffindor Hero most certainly _would_ have cared, probably a great deal too, if he had but _noticed_. Which he simply didn't.

He was genuinely nice, and genuinely oblivious.

Terry, with his studious, inquisitive, observant nature, had often wondered as of late whether Malfoy's callousness was more or less irritating than Potter's blindness. It was like the green-eyed Gryffindor could not register anything in his surroundings beyond a) direct threats, preferably of the lethal kind (against which he was admittedly brilliant), and b) his friends.

Friends who never strayed far from him and in fact… yes, Terry could spot Granger and a tall shadow flanking him as usual, despite their unusual situation: surely that was Potter's faithful side-kick.

But, wait, no… there were no red hair to be seen; not Weasley then. Who…?

Ah, yes. The tall frame could only be Longbottom. Bit of a mystery that one, Terry mused. Universally believed to be an idiot with barely enough magic to qualify for Hogwarts (according to rumour, he'd got in merely on his pureblood heritage, like some Slytherins in their year) and yet, not only was he a respected member of the D.A., but one of the best among them, recently the only one besides Ginny Weasley who could keep up with Potter and Granger. Terry had watched him master a complex shield in almost no time with his own eyes. It puzzled the entire Ravenclaw House.

Well, at least he would be more interesting to observe than the ginger-haired winner of the 'Most Predictable Gryffindor of the Year' award, thought Terry uncharitably…

Then his mind came to a screeching halt. Wait. What was he thinking! There was _nothing_ interesting in this mess! No silver linings! It was _not _an opportunity for observation! He shouldn't be thinking about that! He should stick to cursing Fate, Luck, Life's weird sense of humour and possibly a colourful assortment of Gods!

Because – really.

It was one thing to miss a class or two while your skin regained its proper hue under the exasperated fussing of the school's Mediwitch, and _quite another_ to be dragged along for the ride on one of Potter's mad adventures!

Oh, yes, he knew what the other bloke got up to in his spare time. Who didn't? Rumours were wild things after all and they tended to run rampant.

Plus, he'd heard the whole story about that Basilisk (a _Basilisk_ in a _school_, wasn't that mind-boggling) from a portrait the year before and Potter had sort-of confirmed it, in that confusingly modest way of his. Terry was positive it was just one episode of many, after all he could recall absurd tales about Potter beating a troll as early as Halloween in their first year!

They made for wonderful tales to be sure, but he much preferred the role of listener!

Let Potter's usual side-kicks do their job as Proppeian Helpers. He, normal, unassuming, fairly _boring_ Terry Boots, did not want to be involved in any way!

But even as he mentally raged he couldn't help the sinking feeling that he was already in way too deep.

For the cavernous, barely-lit cave he could guess more than see spreading around them and up high above, welcoming them only with a chilling draft that made the flames flicker dramatically atop the two torches held by conveniently placed – _too_ conveniently, his logical mind pointed out – ornamental supports…

…well, it most certainly wasn't Hogwarts anymore.


	2. Two

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

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><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_He, normal, unassuming, fairly boring Terry Boots, did not want to be involved in Potter's mad adventures in any way!_

_But even as he mentally raged he couldn't help the sinking feeling that he was already in way too deep._

_For the cavernous, barely-lit cave he could guess more than see spreading around them and up high above, welcoming them only with a chilling draft that made the flames flicker dramatically atop the two torches held by conveniently placed – too conveniently, his logical mind pointed out – ornamental supports…_

_…well, it most certainly wasn't Hogwarts anymore._

* * *

><p>What the hell was going on?<p>

"Potter, this is entirely your fault!" spat Draco Malfoy from his left.

Terry groaned.

It seemed the Slytherin, rather than sitting up and taking notice of their weird surroundings, as well as the glaringly obvious fact that _they weren't in Hogwarts anymore_, let alone drawing the fairly logical conclusion that they were in _huge troubles_, had instead decided to simply include this new and startling development into his ongoing argument!

Bloody _berk_.

Now, perhaps Terry was _too normal_ to enjoy adventures: he had no qualms admitting this. Maybe his being relatively new to magic had something to do with his… prudence… too. But honestly!

To completely ignore a radical _and_ unexplainable change of scenery, with all the worrisome speculations this invited and the potential threats that _anyone with common sense_ would have realized lurked in a big, dark cave with far too strategically placed light points!

That was beyond blasé!

And naturally, Potter was never going to let Malfoy's provocation go unanswered, no matter that Terry would have readily bet neither of the two had any more clues on what was going on than he himself had…

But maybe all those years of – ahem – _extracurricular activities_ had done Potter some good after all: instead of shooting a catty remark the Slytherin's way, as expected, Potter ran a hand through his ever-messy hair and half-smiled sheepishly: "Probably, yeah… stuff like this seems to happen an awful lot around me…" he muttered.

Then he shook his head sharply, as if to clear it: "No matter. Tossing the blame back and forth will do us no good. Let's see if we can figure out where we are!"

Oh, great Merlin! Common sense! From an unlikely source, no less! Quick, someone grab it before it disappears again!

Terry hurriedly said: "I agree!"; Longbottom was nodding quickly too and Granger started saying: "Right, then!..."

Unfortunately, Malfoy, as usual, dismissed anyone around him as completely inconsequential. "What the bloody hell did you do, Potter!"

Was the idiot never going to realize the seriousness of their situation? Should they perhaps try pointing out the obvious with nice, clear pictures?

"Fix it, Potter! Now!"

"What? I didn't do anything!"

"This is a kidnapping! When my father hears about this…"

"I don't give a damn about your precious father!"

…And there went the rare blossom of common sense Potter had produced earlier…

"Watch your mouth, Potter! You're going to be expelled for this!"

"Wha... that's ridiculous! I didn't do anything!"

"You _kidnapped_ me!"

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

Bloody hell, they'd be here all day…

"I can't believe you would stoop so low, Potter!"

"You bloody moron, I. Didn't. Do. Anything!"

"You said it was your fault!"

"Well it wasn't! Maybe it was yours!"

"What? Preposterous!"

"You're the one who brought up the kidnapping idea! In case you've forgotten, it's your Death Eaters pals that spend their free time trying to kidnap _me_, not the other way round!"

Terry felt a cold shiver down his back. How could Potter say something like that so cavalierly? Could it really be Death Eaters who brought them here? This was no light matter! Were they going to be tortured? Were they going to _die_? How could those two morons just keep fighting each other in front of a similar perspective?

"How _dare_ you accuse _me_ of a mess _you _made!"

"Malfoy, for the last time! It wasn't me!"

"I demand you fix this!"

"Yeah? Well, if you tell me how…"

"How the fuck should I know, Potter?"

"Well, how do you expect _me_ to know?"

"It's your fault…"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

Merlin, Terry was _this_ close to hexing the two idiots…

He couldn't believe those careless morons; it was like any looming threat simply paled for them in comparison to a useless spat with their loathed rival.

The way things looked, they wouldn't stop anytime soon either…

A sharp whistle suddenly pierced the air (and their ears).

Terry looked around, disoriented, and caught sight of Granger glaring Potter into submission.

Ah, of course. She'd been around the boy hero for quite a long time after all… clearly, she'd developed ways to deal with his Malfoy obsession. Effective ways, apparently.

"Stop it! Both of you! You should be ashamed! We need to find out where we are and what happened and how we'll go back and we need to do it _NOW!"_

Merlin, but her voice was shrill! Even Malfoy winced over his sneer, at the last shouted word.

Mercifully, it seemed to have stopped the quarrelling morons, at least for now.

Potter actually looked sheepish and finally lowered his wand, which he'd kept trained on the blond all along.

Then he uttered a quick _lumos_ and bright white light burst forth from the tip of the wand, which he raised again in a wide arc, illuminating the area.

Terry spared a fleeting, envious thought for the unfairness of Potter being able to get such an effect when his own _lumos_ more closely resembled a small, portable muggle torch whose batteries were fading; but it was soon drowned in awed wonder at the spectacle being disclosed.

The whitish glow easily overcame the flickering flames, slowly piercing the veil of darkness around them: a huge, cavernous hall was revealed, tearing a faint gasp from them. It was irregularly carved in the stone, but with a majestic symmetry that spoke of intent and great skill. No, it wasn't, couldn't be, natural: pillars and vaults were easily discernible, some of them adorned with sculpted scenes too indistinct to make out, yet intriguing all the same.

And in the middle of the cave…

"What's that?" whispered Longbottom loudly, and they all jumped at the sudden, oddly resounding voice, ricocheting off the stone walls as if the pillars were playing catch with its echo.

They let it die down before braving the silence once more.

"A chessboard", Potter answered his friend at last, but he sounded doubtful.

Indeed, it looked like a chessboard, albeit a huge one; the stone floor was inlaid with big, squared flags of shiny black and faintly glowing white marble, arranged in the usual patten: they were gleaming in the light of Potter's _lumos_.

On it stood enormous human-like chess pieces, each a work of art in its own right, so finely they were carved in the polished marble, every detail etched with immense care and skill.

Closer to the five wizards were the Blacks: the usual row of pawns – warriors with pikes and ancient looking plated mails – stood in front of the arrayed Rooks, Knights, Bishops, Queen and King.

The Whites they were facing, on the other hand, were surprising: there were no figures among them, only three rows of pawns.

A faint recollection stirred in Terry's mind, of seeing a similar arrangement on a much smaller muggle chessboard once, but almost immediately it was chased away by Malfoy's snort.

His cutting tones slit the silence unpleasantly: "Don't be more of an idiot than usual, Potter, that's not the correct set up for a Wizarding Chess match!"

Terry braced himself for another frustrating quarrel but Potter surprised him again: he remained completely focused on the life-sized pieces, a frown of concentration on his face. Malfoy was less than pleased to be ignored and scowled furiously, but Potter paid him no mind.

It was Granger who replied: "Actually, a not very common variation of the game of Chess exists, that uses precisely this set-up. I believe it is called the Dunsany Variation…"

For the umpteenth time, Terry wondered why that brilliant, brilliant witch was not in Ravenclaw. Now that she mentioned it, he too remembered: Lord Dunsany, muggle soldier, writer and poet, had invented in the early Forties an asymmetric set-up to make Chess matches 'more interestingly modern'; the Whites played, as usual, to capture the King, while the Blacks' goal was to capture every White pawn, 'down to the last man'. Granger's memory was truly amazing: it was so unfair that his House had been cheated out of her.

Potter stated quietly, glancing at Granger: "This reminds me of first year."

Terry perked up in curiosity: they had to be talking of 'the best Chess match that Hogwarts had seen in years' that earned Weasley fifty points at the Leaving Feast…

Judging by Malfoy's thunderous face, his thoughts were on that night too.

Granger answered just as quietly: "You think it'll be the same, then? We have to play to go on?"

"Go on? Go on _where?_" asked Malfoy snidely, at the exact same time when a new voice said calmly from behind them: "I'm glad you understood so quickly. It certainly makes my job easier if I don't have to explain every little thing."


	3. Three

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

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><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_Potter stated quietly, glancing at Granger: "This reminds me of first year."_

_Granger answered just as quietly: "You think it'll be the same, then? We have to play to go on?"_

_"Go on? Go on where?" asked Malfoy snidely, at the exact same time when a new voice said calmly from behind them: "I'm glad you understood so quickly. It certainly makes my job easier if I don't have to explain every little thing."_

* * *

><p>Before the speaker had even said this much, they'd all pivoted to face the unexpected apparition and five wands were trained unflinchingly on the surprising figure.<p>

Terry mentally congratulated himself on his smooth draw. Practice with the D.A. was really paying off.

The newcomer was a beautiful woman, slender in build and with the golden tan that is the result of a dark complexion kissed by the desert sun. She wore an exotic ankle length dress which partially bared her shoulders: it had gold patterns around the neck and the rims of the sleeves and it made Terry think instantly of an Ancient Egyptian Queen.

What caught the eye the most, however, was a golden piece of headwear that circled her head, featuring an emerald where it met at the front: it held back her straight black hair, that trailed just below her shoulders, with two locks wrapped in gold beads coming from behind her ears and continuing in front, stopping at her neck.

She was gorgeous.

Terry promptly blushed to the roots of his hair when he met her knowing, amused gaze.

"You have been inducted into a Tournament of Shadow Games" she declared, in a deep, serene voice that made Terry blush even more. "As you have guessed, only by winning this first Game you can hope to go on."

There was a moment of stunned silence, then all of them tried to talk at once:

"Go on? _Go on?_ I want to go _back!_"

"Wha-what? Where, how? Why us?"

"What's a Tournament of Shadow Games? How can we be inducted against our will!"

"I demand you release me at once!"

"Who the hell are you?"

"What happens if w-we don't g-go on?"

"What happens if we _do _go on?"

"I've never heard of Shadow Games! What are they? Who invented them? Are they Egyptian? You look Egyptian. Is this a form of Egyptian magic? How were we chosen? Did you pick us? How did you bring us here? What…"

"But why us?"

"I will not stand for this!"

"ENOUGH!"

Terry's head swivelled in unison with all others to look at the source of the mighty bellow, namely, one Harry Potter.

The green-eyed wizard ad an interesting look that seemed composed in equal parts of fury, denial, acceptance, defiance and resignation.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, then snapped them open and took two determined steps forward, spine straight and chin held high.

Then, very deliberately, making every word count, he asked: "What are the rules?"

Terry gaped. Why hadn't he thought of that? It was possibly the most sensible question they could come up with in the circumstances!

Not everybody shared his opinion, however, if the way Malfoy spat his protests was anything to go by: "Who in Morgana's name cares for rules, Potter, I don't want to play their crazy games! I don't intend to! You should be taking us back to Hogwarts, you useless idiot, not indulging these lunatics!"

Terry winced: insulting their kidnappers did _not_ strike him as a smart move. He snorted. Malfoy, smart? Yeah, right.

Potter rounded on them all and both Terry and Neville took an instinctive step back in front of his fury.

"Shut the hell up, Malfoy! Are you really so stupidly blind as to not realize our situation?"

The blond snapped an indignant "Why, you!" but Potter overrode him impatiently.

"For goodness' sake, Malfoy, wake up and think, if you can manage! Do you really believe whoever set this up will just let us go? This was clearly planned and executed with care! We're well and truly trapped! And demanding things without knowing what we're dealing with might well be the stupidest thing ever! It's too great a risk. For all we know, it'll give us a penalty or something! There's no telling with this kind of things. We _need_ to know the rules, because like it or not, we're trapped in a fucking magical contract and _yes_, Boot", the green orbs shifted to him abruptly and Terry cringed under their burning focus, "it _is_ possible to be entered into a magical contest against your will. Triwizard Tournament, anyone?" he finished sarcastically.

Terry bit his lip, because he'd been among those who firmly believed Potter had entered his name for the Tournament and was ashamed and embarrassed now that the truth was out; there wasn't much he could say.

Malfoy of course had no such qualms, but Potter paid him no heed, turning to Granger, so the blond could only huff at being ignored and then shut up.

Potter was a little gentler with his friend: "And for the love of Merlin, Hermione, I know you've probably worked out an endless list of questions and I agree it would be interesting to know the history of these Shadow Games, whatever they are, and the magic they work with and everything, but it is not _essential_."

Granger looked rather sheepish and nodded a little to show she accepted the rebuke.

Potter stopped to take a deep breath and turned again to face the mysterious woman. To Terry's surprise, she had acquired a faraway look and was seemingly staring at them unseeing, her dark eyes swirling with a milky quality that he found unnerving.

"Interesting… yes, yes, perhaps…" her voice was dream-like and Terry had to fight the urge to fidget. She was rather creepy at the moment. "Perhaps… it would indeed be beneficial if you knew a part of our history… yes…"

She shook herself out of whatever had befallen her and focused on them once more. Potter was frowning but before he could say anything she nodded decisively and adjusted the balance of her body.

She made a contained circular motion with her arms, bringing her hands before her chest then joining them daintily. It had the taste of a ritualistic motion but what its meaning might be, Terry could not fathom.

Then she started narrating.


	4. Four

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

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><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_The mysterious woman __made a contained circular motion with her arms, bringing her hands before her chest then joining them daintily. It had the taste of a ritualistic motion but what its meaning might be, Terry could not fathom._

_Then she started narrating._

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><p>"This is a story of oh, so long ago…<p>

Over three thousand years ago, Egypt was ruled by Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen. In those days, magic was known to all and magicians were held in high regard…"

Terry disdainfully ignored the pleased noises Malfoy made a point to interrupt the story with; so did the strange woman.

"…especially those few who could access the devastating power of Shadow Magic.

The greatest magician in the country was the Pharaoh's own brother, High Priest Akhenaden, a Master of the Shadows; to him was the ancient Millennium Spellbook entrusted."

This time it was Terry who couldn't help a gasp of interest, swiftly echoed by Granger.

"It was in that book, where the most powerful and most dangerous aspects of Shadow Magic were recorded, that Akhenaded found the enticing, damning ritual that would allow the creation of seven magical artefacts, powerful beyond imagining: the Millennium Items."

"Millennium Items?" whispered Potter in fascination. Everybody was spellbound, eyes riveted on the mysterious woman as they listened avidly to the tale she was spinning.

"Maybe, had the land remained peaceful, nothing would have come of his discovery", she continued. "Maybe, had the situation not appeared so dire, they would not have resorted to that ritual.

But when Egypt fell under the threat of invading armies, when the defending soldiers' skill and courage seemed to fail them, the Pharaoh sought to protect his land through mystical means, despairing of anything else being sufficient.

Thus he laid down the command for the seven Millennium Items to be forged, as the Millennium Spellbook dictated. But alas…" she sighed. "Akhenaden, who was charged with creating the magical items, in his folly refrained from informing his brother and King of the price the spell would require.

For Shadow Magic is powerful, yes, but terrible: in order to magically charge the Items and give them enough power to protect Egypt, 99 human sacrifices had to be offered to the Shadows."

Gasps and stifled cries tore from their throats, a collective shudder wracking their frames with horror. Even Malfoy looked ill.

"The village of Kul Elna became the victims of the Pharaoh's unwitting decree", the tale went on, and the woman's voice became deep and grim. "Akhenaden had them slaughtered, their blood, bone and flesh melted in with the gold that was cast in the mystic rite that formed the Items."

There was a pause of several heartbeats. Then the woman sighed deeply. "I will not go into details about how the Millennium Items did save Egypt, only to bring it to the brink of destruction through internal struggles.

I will not recount how they were entrusted to the Pharaoh's closest advisors, my ancestor among them." Her voice was briefly tinged with pride and Terry heard Malfoy's soft, awed whistle.

"Nor will I speak of the horrors that came from using the cursed Items, or tell how the Pharaoh's son had to sacrifice himself to seal the unleashed, wild Shadow Magic away". Potter made a sympathetic sound at that.

"It is not my story to tell, after all", continued the woman.

Suddenly she focused on each of them, meeting their wide eyes sternly: "I will tell you, however, that it was not long ago, in the grand scheme of things, that the Shadow Magic was once again unleashed, when the most powerful of the seven Items, the Millennium Puzzle, was solved by a young man, to whom it had been gifted."

"Solved?" breathed Granger in fascination.

The woman didn't appear to have heard her. She sighed fondly, a small smile gracing her beautiful features: "I will say this much about Yugi… he did not shirk from the tasks Fate heaped on his shoulders. If you have the occasion, do ask him or his friends about the series of adventures that eventually led him to reunite the Items and become the King of Shadow Games. They make for a captivating tale."

She suddenly dropped her arms down her side. Terry wondered if it meant that story-time was over.

Longbottom released a sigh: "Wow." Terry silently agreed.

Then he noticed that Malfoy was frowning. "Wait a minute…" he started slowly. "King of the Shadow Games… does that mean… _is this Yugi bloke the reason we are here?"_ he finished almost shouting, clearly incensed.

Potter asked quietly: "Do you really expect us to meet him?"

The mysterious woman smiled secretly. "That will depend on whether you can overcome the challenges you face, will it not?"

Malfoy exploded: "Why, you insufferable bint, what right do you and this King of yours think you have to drag me-"

He was cut off abruptly when Potter casually waved his wand at him with a lazy "_Silencio"_. Malfoy's face went pink with rage and effort and he gesticulated wildly in his fury. Granger gushed: "Oh, Harry, you've finally mastered the Silencing Charm!"

Potter shot her a quick, cheeky grin: "With the right incentive…"

Then he turned serious and gazed intently at the woman in front of them. "You haven't answered my question, you know", he pointed out. "What are the rules here?"

She gave an enigmatic smile: "The mechanics of a Shadow Game are simple: a challenge is set, with clear terms; if you fail, you are subjected to a Penalty inflicted through Shadow Magic; if you win, you are rewarded with a prize proportional to the risk you took in playing. Also, if you cheat in any way, you are automatically subjected to a Penalty – and those are always harsh."

There was a moment of contemplative silence while they reflected on this piece of information.

"Are penalties and prizes agreed upon beforehand?" ventured Granger.

"No." A simple word, but loaded with weight.

Terry asked incredulously: "So what you're saying is, we are to go in blind? That we must play without even knowing for what? And we could, I don't know, lose a limb as penalty, for instance, and we wouldn't even know that we're running the risk?"

"And we have no choice but to play, or be stuck here until we starve", concluded Longbottom softly.

No answer came forth.

Great. Just bloody great.

"I still wish to know the rules for this particular Tournament" said Potter in a mulish tone. "You've talked only in generic terms so far!"

The woman's smile widened imperceptibly. "Well spotted", she praised. Then she seemed to focus inward for a moment, gathering her hands above her chest with a more economic version of her earlier, elegant, motion. Terry had a sudden intuition that it indicated truthfulness, the willingness not to deceive. He debated gathering up enough courage to ask.

"To win the Tournament and be returned to your school, you must reach the Council Room", the woman said briskly. "That means you have to overcome the obstacles in your path and win the Games you are challenged with. The Rule specific to this Tournament is only one: _all_ of you must reach the Council Room. You are, in a way, competing as a team. If even one of you is lost on the way there, the Room will not let you in and you will be trapped here forever."

"WHAT!"

Unperturbed by the shocked outbursts and by the muttered denials of 'on a team with Malfoy, perfect, just perfect!', she went on smiling. Then she inclined her head towards the chessboard.

"The first Game is a Dunsany Chess Match. I do find this variation intriguing… Take the place of whichever Black piece you wish and capture the Whites. I will play against you. If all of you are still standing when the last White pawn is captured, you win and will have earned a prize; if I take out all five of you, you lose."

She pivoted smartly and moved to take position on the White side of the giant chessboard, the flickering light glinting off her ornaments and casting eerie shadows on her gorgeous features, now that Potter's _lumos_ had finally faded.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: There it is, the first hints of my reworking of the history and mechanics of Sadow Games... more to come in later chapters...  
><em>


	5. Five

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_"The first Game is a Dunsany Chess Match. I do find this variation intriguing… Take the place of whichever Black piece you wish and capture the Whites. I will play against you. If all of you are still standing when the last White pawn is captured, you win and will have earned a prize; if I take out all five of you, you lose."_

_She pivoted smartly and moved to take position on the White side of the giant chessboard, the flickering light glinting off her ornaments and casting eerie shadows on her gorgeous features, now that Potter's lumos had finally faded._

* * *

><p>They stared at the chessboard in dismay.<p>

Terry nervously thought that the pieces seemed bigger and fiercer than before. Those White pawns looked positively evil. But that was just his imagination, right? Right?

"Merlin, I wish Ron was here", moaned Potter.

Granger and Longbottom chorused: "Me, too!"

Malfoy snorted from behind them and Terry fleetingly thought it was a pity that the Silencing Charm had already worn off. "What would the Weasel contribute to the situation, pray tell?" he asked disdainfully.

"Ron is a genius at chess", answered Potter simply.

"Oh, please!" scoffed Malfoy.

"Actually, he is", said Longbottom a tad frostily.

Interesting. But irrelevant right now.

"Whether or not Weasley's brilliant at chess, he's not here, so the point is moot. What do _we_ do about…?" Terry trailed off, motioning haphazardly to the waiting pieces.

Potter shrugged: "I'm kind of average at chess; wouldn't gamble our lives on my skill. Are you any good?" he asked Terry bluntly.

Taken aback, Terry just shook his head. He'd read about famous chess matches, sure, and moves and openings and such, but he'd never taken an interest in _playing_. An oversight he mentally vowed to rectify soon, even if the resolution wasn't much help at the moment.

Potter shrugged: "And Neville never liked it much, and Hermione can't play chess to save her life…" he said with a teasing smile for the girl.

Granger just snorted: "Case in point!..."

They chuckled together and Terry couldn't help wondering if Gryffindors had special classes to learn how to enjoy flippant humour in the face of danger.

"Malfoy?" came Longbottom's voice, in a carefully even tone: "Can _you_ play chess?"

Arrogance oozed from the blond's every pore: "Of course", he drawled. "We all play."

The other exchanged perplexed glances.

"All who?" asked Longbottom, puzzled.

Malfoy looked at him as if he was a cockroach. "All Slytherins, obviously."

They stared at him in disbelief. Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Chess is an excellent training for the development of tactical thinking and teaches foresight within a controlled set of moves as an effective tool for the understanding of the far more greatly varied and variable matches of real life", he said haughtily, sounding like he was quoting Snape verbatim.

Terry frowned, his propensity for debates coming to the forefront with a ready objection – along the lines that chess has no variables at all, every piece has exact and specific moves and standard boundaries for their space to manoeuvre, so how can it be useful to prepare for real world conditions?

But before he could voice it, Potter's impatient voice cut in: "Whatever, Malfoy. _Can _you do this?"

Malfoy flushed, eyes narrowing angrily: "I just _told_ you-"

"I'm not asking if you can play, I'm asking if you can do this", interrupted Potter with a jerky nod to the silently watching woman and her chessboard.

Malfoy stood straighter, clearly offended: "I'm the best player in Slytherin, Potter!" Figures. "If you're insinuating that I can't win…"

"I'm not insinuating anything", replied Potter with a sneer, "I'm _stating_ that this isn't just about winning the match!"

Everybody frowned, even Granger. "Harry, what do you mean?" she asked tentatively.

"She", he answered coldly, thumb pointed carelessly to the mysterious woman, "said that _all _of us must reach this Council Room of theirs. That means we must all survive an 'go on'. Now, if you recall, surviving Wizarding Chess might not be as easy as it sounds… So the question is, Malfoy, can you win the game _and_ keep us hale and healthy while you're at it?"

Silence.

"One thing I know about Chess", went on Potter, "is that it's all about balance between sacrifices and gains. But winning won't do you much good, will it, if you're then stuck here? So it's not just about winning, even if we cannot afford to lose."

Well, that was one way of recap a fucked up situation.

Malfoy seemed rather thrown by Potter's matter-of-fact comments and for a moment, Terry saw him hesitate and gulp.

Then the blond shut his eyes firmly and jutted his chin out, snapping harshly: "Longbottom, take the place of the Queen's Rook. Boot, the King's Bishop. Granger…" he grimaced. "You'll be the Queen. Potter, you and I are the Knights."

Terry's eyes widened in surprise when the three Gryffindors instantly moved to comply. He'd expected more arguing, protests, demands, perhaps offence at Malfoy's commanding tone. Not this… this… mature attitude!

By the looks of it, Malfoy was just as flabbergasted.

Terry shook his head in wonder and hurried to take his assigned place.

As he passed by Potter, he saw the tall, shiny Black Knight dismount his war horse with slow, heavy movements and offer the stone bridles to the nervous-looking teen.

"Right…" Terry heard the black-haired Gryffindor mutter, "can't be harder than a hippogriff… come on, now…"

Trying not to speculate on how Potter could have ridden a hippogriff but not a horse before, Terry watched Granger struggle with the hefty crown the Black Queen had majestically handed her and ignored her grumblings about 'useless symbols of outdated, archaic institutions promoting inequality among the population'. She was probably just cranky because the crown was so heavy, anyway.

He made his way to the forbidding Bishop on the King's side, eyeing it warily.

Out of the corner of his eye, he say Malfoy shoot a mocking grin at Potter, with an off-handed insult about his 'plebeian upbringing', while he vaulted on his horse with a taut elegance Terry had a hard time not envying.

Suddenly he was startled by a black crosier being brusquely handed to him. He took it gingerly, having some troubles balancing the thing since it was almost twice his height and quite heavy, and stepped up to take the Bishop's place on the chessboard.

All the while, the same refrain kept running through his mind: why, oh, why did he find himself in this mess?


	6. Six

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_Malfoy shut his eyes firmly and jutted his chin out, snapping harshly: "Longbottom, take the place of the Queen's Rook. Boot, the King's Bishop. Granger…" he grimaced. "You'll be the Queen. Potter, you and I are the Knights."_

_Terry made his way to the forbidding Bishop on the King's side, eyeing it warily._

_All the while, the same refrain kept running through his mind: why, oh, why did he find himself in this mess?_

* * *

><p>"Begin!" resonated the clear voice of their opponent from the other side of the chessboard.<p>

One of the White pawns confidently stepped forth, apparently not needing a voiced command. The uncertain light of the torches revealed in flickering succession details of its exquisite design: the plated mail, the long shaft, the sharp spearhead.

Terry dared a sideway glance at Malfoy. The blond had a frown of concentration and his eyes were darting here and there on the chessboard, clearly imagining patterns and tactics.

Finally he appeared to have reached a decision and with a firm nod urged his ride forward.

The horse leaped powerfully over a Black pawn and clattered to a halt right in front of Terry, blocking most of his view. He fidgeted, almost dropping the too big crosier, while another White pawn joined the first; then Malfoy gestured to the Black one in front of Granger.

Terry looked over at the girl, who was chewing her lower lip in nervousness. Malfoy's voice caught him off guard: "Boot, move to b4."

He started and nearly dropped the unmanageable crosier again, then he hurried to comply, dragging the blasted thing noisily on the marble. He stopped beside a row of three White pawns that seemed to have staked a claim to the centre of the chessboard. Yes, he recalled reading something about it being a common tactic to create a stronghold of pawns in the centre: clearly that was the woman's aim.

As Malfoy moved another pawn to free the second Bishop and then had it move into position on the same column as Terry, the Ravenclaw started to understand Malfoy's strategy as well: he had to be trying to inflict doubled pawns on their opponent. Despite never having seriously played, Terry could easily see the advantage in that: the doubled pawns would impede each other's movements and constitute a weakness, all the more since the woman had nothing but pawns to use…

Soon Malfoy started sending Granger up and down the chessboard, while Terry wasn't called upon to do much of anything, except watch the show from his vantage point in the middle, where he apparently acted as an effective threat just by staying there.

He amused himself observing the other Hogwarts students. Potter looked _bored_, of all things, and seemed to be spending most of his time cooing at and petting his stone horse; against all logic, the majestic war horse appeared to be enjoying the attention immensely.

Longbottom was a patient rock, as strong and as apparently immovable as the Rook he stood for, especially after Malfoy castled and made it clear he wasn't to move for anything.

Granger was a bundle of nerves, bouncing on her place, biting her lips, running jerkily where Malfoy sent her and scowling ferociously at the blond for his distracted disparaging comments. She was constantly muttering under her breath, too, but Terry had no way to make out the words.

Suddenly a heartfelt curse from Malfoy called his attention back to the game, right on time for him to see a viciously grinning White pawn advance on him, pike ready for battle.

"Boot, watch out!"

The cry jolted Terry out of his paralyzing panic, but there was no time for conscious thought: it was instinct alone that had him raise the crosier awkwardly before him, in the vain hope of staving off the attack.

By sheer dumb luck, the shaft of the heavy thing did indeed intercept the incoming blow, effectively saving Terry's life. He was thrown violently on the marble floor, hard enough to have his breath stolen from him, and his arms went numb, quivering with dull pain.

Dazed, he widened his eyes in disbelief when the demonic pawn raised its pike again, this time holding it with its point downward, aiming straight at Terry's heart.

"Get off the chessboard, now!" came Potter's bellow and Terry rolled away with a cry of terror, the pike stabbing the marble floor with a resounding clang mere inches from his back and skittering on it even as he scrambled frantically to get away, fleeing the chessboard altogether.

Terrified, panting, he turned to stare in shock at the ongoing match, where at least the blasted pawn had given up on pursuing him. What the hell! He was very careful to keep some space between himself and the cursed chessboard that had nearly claimed his life. Bloody, fucking, hell!

Malfoy tossed him a hurried 'Sorry, Boot' and immediately focused back on the match, a worried expression on his face.

Terry gaped. _Sorry!_

He didn't know what shocked him more, that Malfoy the Berk had apologized to him at all, or that he could think such a distracted acknowledgment could be enough!

As he came down somewhat from the adrenaline rush, he became annoyed. Why the hell hadn't the blockhead _warned_ him?

But soon he started to realize that it hadn't been intentional or planned on Malfoy's part and worry took the place of resentment. The blond had clearly made a blunder and Terry had been caught in it; Malfoy looked more and more harried as he scrambled to make up for the mistake; Terry got the impression that he'd been reduced to defensive play, desperately protecting the four of them rather than going on the offensive against the swarming White pawns. Already the Blacks had lost the other Rook and both Bishops, as well as all but one pawn.

Things didn't look good.

Curiously, though, the mysterious woman was frowning too, as if things weren't going her way after all.

Malfoy called out a quick warning, explaining to Potter what he needed, and the Gryffindor nodded decisively, moving to capture a pawn and straight into the trap Malfoy needed him to spring.

Terry clamped down on his envy when he saw the green-eyed teen jump from his mount with astounding agility, grab the attacker's pike in mid-air and vault over it gracefully. He was running towards the edge of the chessboard almost before his feet even touched the floor.

Somehow, he didn't think _Quidditch_ gave Potter that kind of reflexes though… and the sudden thought that the other's agility was likely spurred by being hunted by homicidal maniacs cooled his wish for emulation rather effectively.

Potter came to a stop next to him, panting but grinning, and they turned to watch the others together.

And then, unexpectedly, in a few more moves Malfoy had pinched the centre stronghold and gobbled up all but the first three White pawns.

There was a long, long silence, barely disturbed by the crackling of flames and their steady, tense breathing.

Then the woman inclined her head regally and said clearly: "I concede the match."

Breath rushed out of Terry in a whoop and loud cheers exploded from all three Gryffindors.

Only Malfoy didn't seem to relax. "I'm not sure I deserve it", he muttered gloomily, freezing the celebrating mood. "I made such a ridiculous blunder… a simpleton could have done better… and I had to sacrifice too much to get out of the muddle into which I'd dragged us…"

Terry gaped. Was the git serious? They'd won! Who cared about a blunder half-way through?

"Curiously enough", told him the woman with a gentle shake of her head, "it was your blunder that saved you… I had been easily able to recognize and counter your tactics up to that point, but after that, your efforts to adapt to the changed circumstances made you unpredictable… I do not deal well with lack of predictability… the blunder you bemoan is what denied me the easy win I had expected…"

Oh, the irony.

Malfoy, however, remained upset.

"Even if I could accept that lack of proper planning and a bit of luck could earn me a victory, which I don't by the way…"

"The best laid schemes of mice and men go often awry", quoted Granger snippily.

"And luck is nothing to scoff at, Malfoy!" shouted Potter.

Malfoy flushed. "Just because you're used to count on it since you have no other resources!"

"There is nothing wrong with being able to discard and adapt one's strategy at a moment's notice", rebuked Longbottom. "It is quite remarkable, I think!"

"It is", agreed the woman solemnly, cutting off Malfoy's probably moronic retort, "and you can be proud of your victory."

"Can I?" asked the blond bitterly, making Terry itch with the urge to bop him on the head. They'd won, what more did he want!

"I haven't managed to keep us all safe, after all."

Terry froze at the quietly spoken words, trying to recall the terms of the game. Damn it all, Malfoy was right, it hadn't been about winning the match… slight panic spread through his veins. What did this outcome mean, then?

Potter snorted. "Actually, you did. She didn't demand that you keep us in the game, you know."

Everybody pivoted to stare at him.

He returned their questioning gazes with a smug grin: "She said we would win if we were all _standing_ when the last White pawn was captured. So stand up straight, lady and gents, and you, capture the last pawns so we can get the prize and go home!"

A heartbeat.

Then the woman's sudden, crystalline laugh shattered the stunned silence. "So I did! Oh, well spotted, well spotted indeed! I can see you truly are worthy opponents… by all means, finish the game and claim your prize."

Malfoy looked rather dazed but he obediently finished the match.

When the last White pike clattered noisily to the floor, a deep rumble made them all look up at the furthest stone wall, where a mighty set of doors was slowly opening. A dark corridor could be guessed more than seen beyond.

"Here", called the woman and they turned to her once more.

She held out a delicate-looking silver necklace, a torque, if Terry was not mistaken, with the symbol of an Ancient Egyptian eye on the clasp.

Terry rummaged in his memory, trying to come up with its meaning, but all he could remember was the name 'Eye of Wadjet' and something about warding off evil, or perhaps foreseeing threats. Irritated with himself, he vowed to look up Ancient Egyptian symbols as soon as he got to a proper library.

"This is a replica of the Millennium Necklace", the woman told them, making them all gasp in shocked wonder. "The original, the Item that was passed down my line for thousands of years, is now beyond reach, and that is for the best. But we who are part of the Shadow Court, we who have been touched deeply by the magic of the Shadows... we retain some of the powers the Gods granted us… and with those powers were these replicas of the Seven Items made. They lack the potential of the real Items of course… but they carry an echo of that might nonetheless."

She held it out to Malfoy and the blond, mouth agape, reached a trembling hand to the necklace, shooting a nervous glance to the woman, as if expecting her to snatch it away and claim it was all a joke.

"The Millennium Necklace allows its user to see through time, the past, the future", the woman went on, her voice acquiring a dream-like quality. "Though of course, the future it predicts is not infallible and can be changed. This lesser Necklace will offer no knowledge of the past… but it will allow you to glimpse the near future. How often this will happen and how easy to interpret your visions will be, I have no way of knowing. Take it, wear it, use it well. May it remind you of how foresight and schemes, while admirable tools, might benefit, at times, from quick thinking and daring!"

She smiled her enigmatic smile and turned to leave.

Then she stopped and glanced over her shoulder: "By the way, my name is Ishizu… Ishizu Ishtar."

And she was gone, unassumingly vanished under their very eyes.

Malfoy remained there, stunned, gently cradling the precious gift in his hands.

* * *

><p><em>AN:__ There you go! The long awaited match - and a surprising prize! Part One is now over. Now for Part Two... What lies beyond the newly opened doors? Who else will they meet? What challenges will they face?_ _Never fear: the first chapter of Part Two will be up on time tomorrow!_


	7. Seven

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_"This is a replica of the Millennium Necklace and carries an echo of the original's might. It will offer no knowledge of the past… but it will allow you to glimpse the near future. How often this will happen and how easy to interpret your visions will be, I have no way of knowing. Take it, wear it, use it well. May it remind you of how foresight and schemes, while admirable tools, might benefit, at times, from quick thinking and daring!"_

_And she was gone, unassumingly vanished under their very eyes._

* * *

><p>They all moved to what seemed to be the path forward.<p>

The majestic doors opened, as expected, on a darkened corridor that ran transversally, plunging into darkness on both their right and their left.

"Which way?" asked Potter with forced cheerfulness. Terry was a little comforted by the realization that he wasn't the only one rattled by the experience they'd just gone through.

"I'm not sure it matters", answered Granger thoughtfully. "These corridors seem to be at the right angle to form a pentagonal layout of these caves."

Terry watched the stone walls critically, trying to determine if she was correct, and more importantly, how in the name of Merlin could she have gathered as much so easily.

"If my guess is right", she went on, "then it's likely that the Council Room we need to reach is at the centre of the pentagon, but we will have to walk the entire perimeter before we can access it."

Potter was frowning in what Terry was starting to recognize as his 'thinking pose'. "With Games in rooms like the one we were in at each point of the pentagon, is that what you mean?" he asked.

"It does seem logical", admitted Terry, completely amazed that the girl had deducted so much from looking at a _stone corridor_.

Granger shrugged: "If I am right, then it doesn't matter whether we go clockwise or counter clockwise."

Malfoy scoffed, saying in a harsh, almost offended tone: "Of course it matters, Granger! It _always_ matters with magic. You would know, if you were a _proper_ witch!"

Reactions were instantaneous. Terry whirled on the plonker, utterly furious, letting loose a stinging hex that the insufferable blond unfortunately dodged. Granger and Potter were both yelling at him, just as enraged, and Terry found a little satisfaction in noticing that while Granger's hex, whatever it was, missed, Potter's Twitchy Ears Hex hit true. Serves the worthless pillock right!

Malfoy's wand was out and ready to retaliate, Potter and Granger both with another spell on the tip of their lips, when Longbottom fearlessly stepped between the combatants. Terry shook his head in amazement. Gryffindors. _He_ wouldn't have interfered for anything. What if he got caught in the crossfire?

But Longbottom didn't even look worried. "Peace!" he called with his arms outstretched.

"Neville! That, that… you heard… how can you…" spluttered Granger, incoherent with rage.

"Malfoy is a prat", said the tall boy matter-of-factly, supremely dismissive of the indignant blond at his back, "and deserves worse than a few tame hexes, to be sure, but Hermione, he _does_ have a point."

"Ha!" shouted the blond triumphantly.

Terry's jaw dropped. He watched the tall Gryffindor as if he'd never seen him before. He knew Longbottom was pureblood, but he would never have pegged him for a supremacist!

"Neville! How can you say that!" cried Potter outraged.

But the brown-haired boy was shaking his head, hands up in a placating gesture: "Not about Hermione not being a great witch, that is just the product of his rotten brain…"

"Watch your mouth, Longbottom!" shrieked Malfoy, incensed.

Terry felt his lips twitch in amusement and knew Potter and Granger were stifling their chuckles as well.

"…but it _does_ make a difference going clockwise or counter clockwise, in rituals and magical mazes and such…"

Granger calmed down and frowned: "Oh? I've never read anything on this…"

"Me neither", grumbled Terry, still rather annoyed.

Malfoy snorted in contempt.

Longbottom explained apologetically: "You wouldn't, I don't think… it's one of those things you learn as a little child, from bed-time stories and such. I don't think it's touched upon in Hogwarts until N.E.W.T.-level Astronomy or Potions, where you get to study the whys and wherefores. And before you ask", he added hurriedly, "I don't know _that_. Just that clockwise is supposedly nature's inner direction and therefore if you're in a maze created by magic and you want to walk it safely, you should go clockwise so that you're more in tune with what lays under the alterations magic wrought." He paused. "Or something", he added a little less certain.

Fascinating…

Terry ignored with some effort Malfoy's disgusted grumblings, pretending he hadn't heard the careless thrown 'ignorant mudbloods' comment for the sake of peaceful progress. "I wonder if the idea originally sprang from the innumerable clockwise spirals to be found in nature, you know, seashells, horns, pine-cones…" he speculated.

"You're probably right!" Granger's eyes lit up in interest. "Spirals can be seen in every aspect in nature, after all, from magnetic fields and the movements of winds in the atmosphere to the way galaxies swirl in space, and of course it can be explained through mathematics and the complex sequences of equations that result in the pattern, but it's not like wizards ever paid much attention to maths, all in all, and anyway it's hard to pin on mathematics alone the lure of the spiral to the human mind, so it's logical to imagine a magical component to it…"

How was this girl not a Ravenclaw? She so belonged in the Nest!

"Yes, well", interrupted Potter impatiently. It was clear Gryffindor couldn't properly appreciate her! "Are we going left then?" he summed up.

Longbottom nodded: "I believe it would be best."

"Alright!"

They started down the dark corridor, Potter once more calling up his impressive _lumos_.

Nervousness crept into Terry. He wished they could afford to stop, rest, regroup a little. He'd had a taste of adventure, fine, now he was past ready to go back home; but if that wasn't possible, even just a little pause to recover and calm down would be welcome.

The tense silence was getting to him.

To break it (and, ok, because he was genuinely curious) he tentatively asked: "So… about what you said before the mysterious woman… Ishizu… showed up..." They all turned to look at him, but he addressed Potter: "You said it reminded you of first year. What was that all about?"

Malfoy scowled furiously: "Forgotten, have you? That they stole the cup without good reason…"

"Excuse me!" shrieked Granger, "We had a perfectly good reason!" she paused and added more quietly. "Or at least, Harry did."

Potter shook his head. "You know I wouldn't ever have managed without you and Ron. Anyway, Boot, it's all a bit complicated but the gist of it is, there was… something" he exchanged a meaningful glance with Granger "hidden in the school, behind a set of traps the Professors designed to discourage curious and thieves. McGonagall's protection was a giant chessboard, not unlike what Malfoy just played on."

"Nice of you to notice none of you did anything to help!" intervened Malfoy snidely.

"Not true" countered Longbottom mildly. "After all, we followed your instructions to the letter. We might have opposed you at every step, you know."

Malfoy frowned, as if the idea hadn't even occurred to him.

Potter ignored the exchange. "Ron, as we told you, is a genius at chess and managed to win the match and allow us to go on to the next trap. End of story."

Terry snorted. "Yeah, right. I bet there's loads more about this 'story' of yours. Why were you even there? What was the thing hidden? What were the other traps? Don't give me crap about it being 'all'. I know a little of what you get up to, you know."

Potter blushed and mumbled a bit, trying to shrug it all off.

Longbottom chuckled fondly. "They do have all sorts of mad adventures", he confirmed confidentially. "Just in first year, there was that troll, the three headed dog, that whole horrible mess in the Forest, then saving that Philosophal – sorry, Hermione – _Philosopher's_ Stone from You-Know-Who himself…"

"Not to mention Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback!" quipped Hermione merrily.

Longbottom stopped in his tracks: "There really was a dragon?" he asked in wonder.

"You mean we didn't tell you?" asked Potter shocked. "I'm sorry, Neville! Merlin, I can't believe you came on that thrice-cursed detention and didn't even know it was worth it!"

"Worth it!" grumbled Malfoy in disgust.

Harry shot him an unfriendly look then turned to Neville and launched on the whole tale of Hagrid's baby dragon.

Terry listened in fascination. "How did he get his hands on a dragon egg? They're class A non-tradable items!"

Granger and Potter exchanged a look. "Weeeeelll…"

"Never mind that", cut off Granger.

Malfoy scoffed loudly. She rounded on him, peeved: "Anything you want to say?" she asked tartly.

Malfoy fell quiet. Then, blatantly ignoring her, he addressed Potter, asking uncertainly: "Did you really meet… Him?"

Potter snorted: "Voldemort, you mean?" Terry gasped and both Malfoy and Longbottom flinched visibly. Potter shot them a scathing look. What did he expect? That they would be able to talk about the stuff of nightmare as flippantly as he did? "You saw him too, Malfoy."

What?

"What?"

"In the Forest. Remember? The blood sucking shadow that sent you running and screaming like a little girl?"

"Bloodsucking…?" said Terry faintly.

Malfoy was too horrified to even respond to the barb.

"That…?"

"Was Voldemort", confirmed Potter, once again ignoring the shivers and flinches around him.

"But, but…" Malfoy seemed at a loss, and strangely, he looked suddenly very young.

"But, what? But, he was a monster? Inhuman? Repellent? Not at all the supposed height of pureblooded grace and power you were told he was?" Terry couldn't decide if Potter's mocking voice was more amused or bitter. "You better shed most of your idiotic ideas of grandeur where Voldemort is concerned, Malfoy. He's nothing great… a mere shadow, with a construct body that is revolting, chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake… his greatest power lies in charming fools into letting him into their hearts and minds… come to think of it, he's not even a pureblood…"

"YOU'RE LYING!"

Malfoy was quivering with rage and fear. Terry wondered what it could be like, hearing an admired myth torn to shreds so callously. He couldn't muster too much empathy for the pureblood snot, however.

Potter had fallen quiet at the other's outburst, and merely regarded him coldly.

At length, he said in cool, precise tones: "Tom Marvolo Riddle, aka Voldemort, was born to Merope Gaunt, an almost-squib of a line that had long lost all the wealth and nobility it once held, and a muggle she eloped with, who abandoned her and her baby when he found out that she had some magical powers, even if very weak. He grew up in a muggle orphanage, you know. You don't need to believe me… check it all out yourself, when we go back. It is a matter of record."

Then he turned brusquely and walked on, leaving a stunned and upset blond behind.

Terry followed slowly, mulling over things.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: This 'interlude' wasn't exactly planned... but it came out more or less on its own as I was writing and it feels right at this point. Next chapter will bring them face to face with other challenges..._


	8. Eight

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_"YOU'RE LYING!"_

_Malfoy was quivering with rage and fear. Terry wondered what it could be like, hearing an admired myth torn to shreds so callously. He couldn't muster too much empathy for the pureblood snot, however._

_Potter __turned brusquely and walked on, leaving a stunned and upset blond behind._

_Terry followed slowly, mulling over things._

* * *

><p>The awkward, tense atmosphere hung heavily among them as they walked on.<p>

Longbottom broke the silence. "Look over there! What do you think that is?"

Three huge statues stood in a row in the middle of the corridor, barring the way. They were humanoid in body and had the heads of animals: a Cow, a Lion, an Ibis.

Granger instantly muttered, motioning at the one on the right: "Thoth, the Ancient Egyptian God of justice, both as in 'judgment' and as in the 'arbitration of disputes', as well as the protector of magicians, writers and mathematicians, often represented as an ibis-headed man."

Not to be undone, since after all, there was House pride to uphold here, Terry quickly added, indicating the middle one: "Sekhmet, Goddess of war and healing, the fierce lioness whose breath created the desert."

And they shared a grin, finishing together: "And Hathor, Goddess of music, dance, and fertility, as well as the Patron Goddess of miners, commonly depicted as a cow-headed woman with horns in which is set a sun disk!"

"Right…" said Potter shaking his head. "You two are scary."

Longbottom laughed good-naturedly.

"Whatever", was Malfoy's disgusted comment.

"Look, there's writing on their pedestals!" called Granger excitedly.

Indeed, etched in the stone were simple words, unexpectedly in English.

"See? I was right. This was carefully planned and at this point, it is likely that we were carefully chosen too", commented Potter.

The wording was elegant in its simplicity:

_One is always truthful, __  
>one knows not how to be,<br>and one knows the wisdom  
>of lying only if needs be.<em>

Granger let out a great sigh, smiling fondly. "A logic puzzle…" she said happily. "Brilliant!"

Potter snickered, then said in a virtuous voice: "Of course… after all, a lot of the greatest wizards haven't got an ounce of logic, they'd be stuck in here forever."

All of a sudden, both he and Granger collapsed into helpless laughter. What the hell?

Gasping for breath, the two seemed to realize that their companions were looking at them strangely and tried to compose themselves.

"You've gone round the bend, haven't you?" asked Malfoy flatly, with a kind of distantly professional tone that managed to convey all in one that he'd expected something like this for years, and that they were worthless for succumbing to whatever madness gripped them.

"S-sorry…" panted Granger. "Inside joke."

"Okay", said Longbottom a little uncertainly.

Potter shook his head. "Remember when I said the teachers made traps to protect… what was hidden in Hogwarts first year? Snape's one wasn't magic, it was logic and, well…" he trailed off into more chuckles, but Terry had got the point.

"McGonagall told me privately that he was pretty upset I'd solved it so easily", confessed Granger, still giggling.

"Wow!" He couldn't help the exclamation slipping out: Snape was universally considered the hardest task-master ever and was one of the few truly rational wizards Terry had met… solving a puzzle he created, and _easily_, was nothing short of impressive! Apparently Malfoy thought so too, because he made no comment on the matter whatsoever, a rare occurrence indeed.

"Well, at least this isn't very hard to solve", declared Granger briskly and marched up to the statue on the left.

She addressed the horned stone woman smartly: "Who is sitting next to you?"

"Truth," the statue answered in a deep, gravely voice, at odds with her feminine appearance.

Granger nodded and asked the one in the middle: "Who are you?"

"Wisdom."

Lastly, she asked the ibis-headed one on the right: "Who is your neighbour?"

"Lie," it replied.

Granger beamed brightly. "Well, then it's clear who is who!"

Terry bit the inside of his cheek, trying to sort out the answers in a hurry. How did Granger do it so _quickly?_ He was no slouch in the logic department, but she was too fast to be real!

The Gryffindor girl turned to the ibis-headed statue and asked: "How can we go on?"

The statue solemnly held out a bronze key: "By going through the door this key opens."

Potter was quick to snatch it.

"You sure, Granger?" asked Malfoy in a tone that suggested more doubt and contempt than could possibly be warranted.

She turned to him, peeved. "Yes! He's the one who always says the truth, so his directions must be the right ones!"

"And how can you know he's the truthful one?"

But by now, Terry had worked it out too, and had come to the same conclusion: "The first answer hinted that Hathor isn't Truth, the second answer wasn't said by Truth either, so obviously, the ibis-headed Thoth must be the always truthful one. Which, incidentally, means that the lioness is lying and the statue on the left is Wisdom", he added, just to be thorough.

Potter was already trying the few doors behind the statues and called out when he found the right one. "This way!"

It was not long before they came upon two other statues.

"The Two Ladies, Nekhbet and Wadjet, the protecting deities for all of Egypt", said Terry quickly, wanting to show Granger off for once. This wasn't the standard Egyptian Pantheon after all, they were less known… but of course, Granger wasn't fazed.

"Nekhbet, the White Vulture, patron of Upper Egypt, representing purification, with her wings spread to represent infinity, all, or everything", she said proudly.

"And Wadjet, the Snake Lady, protector of Lower Egypt," came unexpectedly Malfoy's voice. "Who later on became the _uraeus_ symbol used on the royal crowns to symbolize power and the strength to rule and protect."

They turned to stare at him in shock.

"What? I don't need to be a Ravenbore to be cultured!" he sneered. "My upbringing and education was both comprehensive and refined, I'll have you know!"

Terry bristled, offended, but it was Potter who put the blond in his place: "That, and you Slytherins are obsessed with snakes and power, which this Wadjet apparently combines", he scoffed.

Malfoy gave him an ugly sneer.

"Anyway", said Longbottom loudly, derailing the looming fight. "I think this is another logic puzzle. Look, there's an English inscription here as well!"

They drew closer to examine the bronze disc held suspended between the two imposing statues.

_One door leads to death, __  
>one door leads to choice,<br>one sister tells the truth,  
>one makes no honest noise,<br>what question can you ask  
>to know which door to pick,<br>if your life and your heart  
>you wish to safely keep?<em>

"A classic!" said Terry in satisfaction.

"Classic?" repeated Potter in incredulity.

"Yes, there must be a thousand and one variations on it, like, you know: 'You are travelling down a country lane to a distant village, you reach a fork in the road and find a pair of identical twin sisters standing there, one of the sisters always tells the truth and the other always lies: if you are allowed to ask only one question to one of the sisters to find the correct road to the village, what is your question?'… or: 'You're a prisoner and the King gives you the chance to avoid the gallows if you can pick the right door to escape with just one question to the two guards, one of whom is always lying and one of whom is always truthful'… The gist of the problem is always the same: you have to find a question that will force either character to give you two pieces of information instead of one, for example, a question that will force the liar to lie two times and thus speak the truth."

"Yes", interjected Granger, "so it must be something along the lines of 'what would you say, if I asked you ...?' A tricky question, so to say."

"Actually, there is a simpler way to go about it" retorted Terry, savouring the moment. "An indirect question."

"Oh!" said Granger. "Of course! Well thought out, Terry!" she beamed at him and he was startled by the use of his given name. Even in the D.A. they'd usually called him Boot. Did she think this mad adventure qualified for making them friends? Did she expect him to use her given name too?

Well, she wasn't expecting an answer at least: she turned promptly to the nearest statue and asked primly: "What would your sister say, if I asked her where this door leads?"

"To freedom", was the answer.

Potter tried to reason it out. "So, if this is the truthful sister, she's saying that her lying sister would lie about this door leading to freedom, so this door really leads to death, and if this is the lying sister, she's lying about what her truthful sister would say, so her truthful sister would say this door leads to death, so this door truly leads to death?"

Terry tried hard not to burst out laughing, especially since the dark-haired boy looked mightily pleased with himself.

"Exactly", beamed Granger, already moving towards the other door.

"How did you manage to say all that without twisting your tongue?" asked Neville in wonder.

"He's got a twisted brain, that's how", snarked Malfoy.


	9. Nine

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_"Oh!" said Granger. "Of course! Well thought out, Terry!" she beamed at him and he was startled by the use of his given name. Even in the D.A. they'd usually called him Boot. Did she think this mad adventure qualified for making them friends? Did she expect him to use her given name too?_

_No matter, she'd asked the question he suggested and was already moving towards the other door._

* * *

><p>When, after a little while, they came upon three sitting statues, each holding a box in front of them, it didn't exactly come as a surprise.<p>

A scarab-headed man holding aloft a bronze box, a crocodile-headed one holding a silver chest and a scorpion-headed intimidating one with a golden coffer.

"What, no history lesson this time?" joked Potter, as Granger and Terry were both silent in their contemplation.

Granger smiled. "They are representations of Khepri, the dung beetle that ceaselessly pushes the sun, Sobek, the feared crocodile God of the Nile, and Seth, the wicked brother of Osiris."

"Khepri's mythology derives from the ancient idea that scarab beetles were created from dead matter, because of the fact that they lay eggs in the bodies of various dead animals, including other scarabs, and in dung, from which they emerge having been born, so it became a symbol of rebirth, renewal, and resurrection", added Terry, chuckling at the disgusted grimaces he got.

"It is also the first God ever to be associated with the Magical Art of Transfiguration" added Malfoy, shooting a superior smirk to them, which Terry easily interpreted as a barb against their non-magical upbringing, "because of its being the God of transformations."

Granger looked at him sideways, and it wasn't friendly, but she disdained to comment. "Sobek the Crocodile was the embodiment of a great fear in the nation of the Nile and he was both a powerful and frightening deity. Some temples of Sobek kept pools where sacred crocodiles were raised: these crocodiles were fed the best cuts of meat and became quite tame."

"And Seth was one of the greatest and most fearsome gods of the Egyptian pantheon", continued Terry. "He was the God of the desert, storms, foreigners and chaos."

"And patron of the Dark Arts", added Malfoy gleefully. "Priests of Seth are credited with the creation of some of the most breathtaking and terrible curses in the History of Magic."

That, Terry wasn't sure he'd wanted to know.

"It says here 'the key is inside me'" called out Potter, who'd been examining the Scorpion's golden box.

"'The key is not inside me' is what's written here" said Longbottom from the centre, coming up from his examination of the silver box.

"And this one says 'the key is not in the golden box'" concluded Granger from the right. Then she frowned. "We need at least one more clue, though."

Terry quickly knelt to look for clues on the pedestals. After all, the first one had had the instructions on it… and in fact, there it was:

_At least one is true  
>At least one is false<em>

Simple and clear. Alright. He read that aloud and before he could even start sorting out his thoughts Granger had worked out that the key had to be in the golden box.

He scowled and spent a little while thinking on the answer himself, while Potter opened the heavy lid and retrieved the needed key, eventually agreeing rather grudgingly that, yes, the key had to be where Granger had said, otherwise the inscriptions would be either all true or all false. Still, she could have given him a chance to find the answer instead of being so damn _smart!_

With a sigh, he followed the others on.

Before long they came upon a tall statue of Anubis, the jackal-headed God associated with mummification and the afterlife.

Granger murmured fascinated: "The God of the Dead…"

"…and Guardian of the Scales", murmured Terry, a little intimidated.

"Wait, wait, I know this one!" said Potter. "He weighs the hearts with his set of scales to determine if the deceased is worth anything!"

Granger giggled: "You make him sound like a butcher!"

They laughed, and Terry shivered. He didn't feel right, disrespecting Anubis, never mind that he didn't really believe in Ancient Egyptian Gods, not to mention that this was probably a fake statue made by some insane weirdo, considering its inscription was in English and everything… Still, he wished they were a little less blasé about it all!

Anyway, instead of holding up his usual set of scales, this Jackal was merely standing by a table with them on it. Getting closer, Terry could spot eight black marbles too, that looked identical.

"The only heavier marble contains the key you need", came a whisper that seemed to emanate from everywhere at once. "You are allowed only two weighings."

Granger didn't even hesitate before placing three marbles on each pan. The left one promptly lowered.

"Oh, great, that's useful", groused Malfoy nastily.

"Well, we have determined that the two left out aren't the ones we need, nor are these three…" said Potter in a reasonable tone, although with an undercurrent of puzzlement.

"And we have another weighing, which is all we need", continue Terry, shaking his head in utter amazement at the brilliant witch. Now that only three possible marbles remained he too, of course, saw how to go about it, but how had Granger figured out instantly which number of marbles to use in the first weighing?

With a small smile, Granger removed all marbles except the three on the heavier pan, then took one in hand and distributed the remaining two on the scales. They balanced perfectly.

"Here we go", she said with satisfaction, handing the marble in her hand to Potter, who shrugged and ran a nail on a thin etching to open it, finding a small, glinting key inside.

"I get that if the first weighing hadn't balanced we could have weighed the remaining two and found the heavier one that way", said Longbottom, his voice halfway between awed and bewildered, "but what made you put three and three on the plates the first time?"

"Well, if I'd used only two, we would have needed three weighing to find out the key, unless we were lucky, and we only had two", started Granger matter-of-factly.

"And if you'd used four, you would have eliminated half the marble in the first go, but you wouldn't have been able to determine the one you needed in just one other weighing", reasoned Terry aloud, a bit miffed that he hadn't got there quickly enough.

Granger smiled at him.

"I'm really getting tired of all this damn logic…" mutter Potter mulishly as he made for the door.

Beyond it, the corridor went on only briefly and stopped in front of another set of majestic doors, identical to those that had opened after the conclusion of the Dunsany Chess match.

Before them, a tall, beautiful stone woman dressed in the style of Ancient Egyptian Queens stood, a stone lotus raising regally at her back.

Malfoy whispered reverently: "Isis, the Great Lady of Magic…"

"Wow", murmured Potter.

They stepped forth and the door they had just cleared snapped shut behind them. They treaded uneasy glances. Alright, they were supposed to go on, not back, but all the same, it felt ominous.

Isis held a tray with three keys, a gold one, a silver one and a copper one. Terry was starting to find the pattern a tad annoying.

As they got close, the statue spoke, a placid, thunderous rumble: "If you make a truthful statement, you will get one key. If you make a false statement, you will get nothing. To go on, you need the golden key. To go back, you need the copper one. You have one chance."

Then it fell silent.

"Okay", murmured Potter quietly. "What sentence can guarantee that we'll get the gold key?"

Terry hesitated. Nothing came to mind readily. Granger, too, seemed stumped. Then she looked at him: "I might have an idea, but… can I run it by you?"

Terry blinked. He honestly hadn't expected Granger to recognize him any sort of role or value in their group. She was so much smarter, and braver, and cooler in front of this unexpected mess… he'd thought she was just indulging him when she let him say his piece earlier… and now she was asking for his input?

Unconsciously, he straightened his stance, nodding determinedly: "Fire away."

"I think the sentence 'You will give me neither copper nor silver key' would work", said she, nervously biting her lower lip.

Terry concentrated: "Because if it's true, she must give us one key, but she can't give us the copper or silver one without making it a lie…"

She nodded earnestly: "And if it's false, then its negation must be true, which would be 'you will give me either copper or silver key', which would break the given conditions that you get no key when lying."

"So the first sentence must be true", nodded Terry with a wide grin. "You're right, it'll work!"

And work it did: soon they were watching the enormous doors open slowly…

Then they stepped through and their jaws dropped in shock: under a vaulted stone ceiling, as vast as in the cavern where they'd met Ishizu Ishtar, a _tropical forest_ grew, luxuriant and thriving!

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: And so, they've finally reached another point of the pentagon! Can you guess who the next opponent is? And what the forest is for?_


	10. Ten

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_They stepped through the majestic doors and their jaws dropped in shock: under a vaulted stone ceiling, as vast as in the cavern where they'd met Ishizu Ishtar, a tropical forest grew, luxuriant and thriving!_

* * *

><p>The air was heavy with humidity, warm and wet and all the more oppressive after the dry chilliness of the corridors they'd just walked. Gigantic trees, supported by strong, strut-like buttresses at the base of the trunk, grew in the shallow forest soils. Huge creepers looped and twisted through every empty space, twining themselves around the massive trunks of the trees.<p>

And the astounding sight was rendered even more shocking by the fact that it was held _inside_ a dark cave, whose stone walls and ceiling seemed to be under assault by the luxuriant vegetation.

"I think 'unexpected' covers this quite well", commented Potter at last.

"Startling", nodded Granger.

"Astonishing, too", added Longbottom in a helpful tone.

Terry grinned: "Out of the blue, shocking, unforeseen, sudden, staggering…"

"Annoying", griped Malfoy. "You can't tell me they actually expect us to walk through _that!_ I can see from here it's complete mud and I'm _not_ treading in _that_ and the bloody air is getting wetter and wetter by the minute and I'm already this close to suffocate and it'll only be worse under that bloody canopy of weird leaves and I bet there's all sorts of disgusting beasts in there that proper wizards should only interact with when they're already appropriately harvested for Potions ingredients!"

A heartbeat.

Then the four of them burst out into laughter.

"Oh, Merlin, Malfoy, you're really something else!"

As he took deep breaths to get his mirth under control, Terry spotted a slim volume neatly arranged on a thick moss-covered branch, where it bended horizontally at the level of their eyes.

Determinedly, he strode forwards and snatched it up.

Granger was there in an instant, standing on tiptoes to peek over his shoulder: "What's that?"

"_The Curse of the Idol, Player's Handbook_", he read the title aloud.

"I'm guessing it explains how this Game works?" inquired Potter.

"Amazing… truly phenomenal…" came the muttering voice of Longbottom, completely out of turn.

Looking up, Terry saw the tall boy kneeling on the wet soil, his hands stained with dark, humid earth while he examined the plant-life of the ground layer closely, peering at the roots of the herbaceous shrubs and digging lightly around the trees.

"Neville's found his personal heaven, I suspect", chuckled Potter.

Granger had a fond smile. "Well, you're right about the Game being explained in this booklet, so I think he can play with the plants as much as he likes while we figure out the rules and such."

Potter grimaced. "Well, have fun. No way am I trying to read at your pace. You can give me a recap later; I'll just be over here with Neville! You don't mind, do you, Neville?" he added the last part addressing the kneeling boy directly.

"Huh? Oh, of course, yes, you're right..." Longbottom was clearly off into his own private world. He raised excited eyes on Potter, holding out a ghastly-looking, knobby root: "Isn't this fantastic?" he enthused.

"It's _dirty_", answered Malfoy acidly.

Terry glanced back and noticed with amusement that the blond hadn't budged from the entryway.

Granger snorted inelegantly, muttering something highly unflattering about 'prissy pureblooded little princes'; Potter told him in an annoyed tone: "Oh, give it a rest, Malfoy!"

"Well excuse me for being refined enough to find it distasteful to play in the mud!" retorted the blond, aggravated. "I'm _not_ going in there", he reiterated stubbornly, crossing his arms petulantly. He would have looked adorable, if he'd been _five _rather than fifteen.

Potter said, incredulous: "Merlin's pants, Malfoy, are you a wizard or not? _Scourgify_ works wonders on mud stains, you know!"

Malfoy stared at him with such a horrified expression that if he hadn't heard Potter himself, Terry would have thought the Gryffindor had just told him to sacrifice his firstborn to the Prissy God of Cleanliness to get his Spotless Protection against the terrifying attacks of Dirt.

"Are you suggesting I use a _household charm?_" he breathed, as if the mere mention of the possibility was offensive.

"Huh… yes?" said Potter, clearly not seeing what the big deal was.

"But that's _Elf work!_" shrieked Malfoy, affronted.

"Oh, _really?_" spoke up Granger unexpectedly, with such a venomous tone Terry was almost frightened. "_Slave_ _labour_, I take it you mean!"

Potter and Longbottom moaned and groaned in unison.

Granger ignored them and stalked up to Malfoy, looking remarkably like a sabre-toothed tiger: "Because I don't expect you _pay_ the Elves you force to work for you, do you?"

Malfoy looked torn between being bewildered and mocking: "Paying the House-Elves, Granger? Are you serious?"

Granger stood to her full height, vibrating with righteous anger, and Terry watched in stunned fascination as she launched into a passionate diatribe on House Elves Rights, with a generous side helping of insults against Highly Biased or Inanely Apathetic Wizards Condoning and Colluding in the Oppression of Slaves.

Terry glanced at the other two Gryffindors, who had the long-suffering expression of people who'd heard the speech more times than they cared to remember.

Of course Malfoy, being Malfoy, made a point to retort, none too gently, in order to put the 'uncultured idiot who wouldn't understand their world if someone explained it to her with pictures' in her place; big mistake, seeing as Granger was more than capable to hold her own against the jerk, be it physically, magically, or rhetorically.

It wasn't long before the two had descended into a screaming match.

"Open your ears, you insignificant bint: Elf enslavement goes back _centuries!_ It's part of our _traditions!_ Not that I would expect you to understand the value of our history…"

"The value of history! Well, of _course_, if you mean a _selective_ history, which glosses over the nastier aspects of our culture…"

"_Our_ culture? Oh, that's a laugh! As if you knew _anything_ about wizarding traditions…"

Potter flopped on his back on the ground, groaning in exasperation; Longbottom shook his head and sagely told Terry that it was 'best to let her get it all out of her system'.

Still rather shell-shocked, Terry nevertheless shrugged and sat gingerly on a nearby log covered in wet moss, starting to read and memorize the _Player's Handbook_.

Now and then, he could make out part of their vicious argument.

"..and that's why the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, S.P.E.W., is working to stop the outrageous abuse of our fellow magical creatures and campaigning for a change in their legal status and-"

"Spew?" Malfoy was chocking on his laughter.

"S-P-E-W!" cried Hermione hotly.

Terry concentrated on understanding the different goals and requirements of the game. He was rather confused by the constant reference to 'dice throwing', but figured they would understand better as they went.

"…secure House-Elves fair wages, health assistance and good working conditions…"

"…trying to think of when I've heard something more _ridiculous_ than this…"

It seemed they would be competing as a team against a single opponent once more, playing a Squad of Explorers while their adversary would act as Guardian for the Temple…

"…changing the law about non-wand use…"

"You've _got _to be kidding! Why don't we give out wands to _goblins_ next?"

"Well, why not!"

Terry considered getting up to assist Malfoy, who seemed to be chocking on his own spluttered indignation, but Potter lazily commented that 'the pillock had it coming anyway' and that Terry should think twice before making himself a target for Hermione's crossness. Yes, it was safer to memorize the rules for moving on the Wheels of Death instead – whatever those were.

"…get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented…"

"They don't need representation! They're slaves, Granger! They wouldn't be able to go against their masters' wishes anyway and you can't expect us to let them go gallivanting off when there's work to do in our manors…"

"Your attitude is completely unacceptable!"

"But. They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!..."

"So that makes it alright?"

Terry wondered how long it would be before they grew tired of arguing and moved on to hexes. He sighed and let his gaze wander over Longbottom, who was carefully inspecting some dark green, leathery leaves which tapered sharply, letting a rivulet of water drain quickly from their surface.

Potter was comfortably laying on the soft, wet ground, absently twirling a brightly coloured stem that Terry was reasonably sure was a bromeliad, an epiphyte of the pineapple family that usually grew directly on trunks and larger branches, as his memory supplied.

The first part of the Game would take them through the rainforest, at least until they managed to locate the Temple; he wasn't sure what to think of this.

Sure it would be interesting, but he couldn't help worrying about what kind of creatures they might find. Animals had never really been an interest of his. He thought a tropical rainforest would likely be home to all kinds of colourful birds and probably monkeys. Predators, possibly, leopards and jaguars and definitely snakes. Lots of insects, too, almost certainly. Good thing he knew three different bug-repelling charms.

What troubled him the most was the possibility of some magical creature he'd never heard of springing on them all of a sudden. They tended to be rather spectacular, and not in the good sense of the term.

He tried to remember what he might have read on the topic. Manticores lived in this kind of habitat, he thought, or, no, wait, they were the hybrids that preferred temperate deserts, but he was sure something really dangerous lived in tropical climates, what could it be? And this looked like a possible territory for man-eating trees, great. He sort of recalled pictures of a sloth-like beast called a Mapinguari, perhaps, and giant crossbreeds between bats and apes he could not remember the name of. Ahools, maybe? At least, if they were bats, sunlight should work against them…

His musings were suddenly interrupted by the brusque transformation of the background noise of the argument into a loud explosion of shouted hexes.

He turned just in time to see a barnacles-covered Malfoy with antlers instead of hair fall to the ground unconscious, Stunned by a severely scratched but otherwise unaffected Granger.

Potter was already checking her over, unfazed by how she was still panting incoherent insults. "Yes, yes, of course you're right…"

Longbottom still had eyes only for the delicate-looking orchid he was cradling gently and – _was he crooning to the thing?_ Whatever.

Terry realized with a sigh that it would be up to him to help the blond. Stifling a grimace, he enervated the Slytherin and briskly reversed the hexes he'd been hit with, completely disregarding his humiliated protests.

Then he straightened and called out: "I think we should start moving."

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: 'Il Tesoro del Tempio' (lit. __'The Treasure of the Temple', English vers. 'The Curse of the Idol') is a Ravensburger board game that I absolutely adored as a child. My best friend and I played countless times when we were around eight, with just about everybody we could rope into it. I have reworked the rules slightly to suit my purposes better, but since we came up with many 'variations' – such as playing in teams, or adding side-quests… - back in the days, I've decided the changes are justifiable. The game belongs to the category of 'roll-and-move' games and as such, it is __a fairly standard kids games, probably rather tiresome to adults because it depends a lot on 'his majesty the d6', and though it still requires more strategy than a boring Game of the Goose or Snakes and Ladders, a lot of it is ultimately luck-based; its greatest appeal is in the beautiful simulation of the 3D temple, the moving cog-wheels, the extremely detailed board game and the well-arranged exotic atmosphere, as well as in the level of care that went into this 'make-belive' (even the instruction manual was written in the style of an adventurer's journal). That, and it tied well into our living role-playing games of 'Indiana Jones adventures', that we were so fond of back then. So, another opponent, another kind of Game... And this should also give you a hint as to who their next challenger is…_


	11. Eleven

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_Terry realized with a sigh that it would be up to him to help the blond. Stifling a grimace, he enervated the Slytherin and briskly reversed the hexes he'd been hit with, completely disregarding his humiliated protests._

_Then he straightened and called out: "I think we should start moving."_

* * *

><p>The dark, damp atmosphere under the canopy of trees wasn't very inviting but they started off nonetheless, marvelling at the incredible variety of trees that was already visible from the very edges of the forest.<p>

They hadn't taken five steps when a pained cry from their back made them instantly whirl, wands at the ready.

Malfoy had fallen to his knees and was clutching the silver necklace Ishizu had given him rather desperately. Terry was hit by the chilling realization that his grey eyes had acquired the same unnerving milky quality that he had found so unsettling in Ishizu.

A moment later, the Gryffindors sprang into action.

"Vision!" called out Potter, already by the blond's side, holding him upright with gentleness.

Granger was casting some sort of protection spell Terry couldn't recognize around them, standing straight and clearly on guard. Longbottom was kneeling in front of the blond, clutching his arms tightly and speaking softly.

"Malfoy, Malfoy, can you hear me? That's it, Malfoy, breathe… that's good… a deep breath… it's alright, it's going to be alright…"

Terry felt rather useless.

Malfoy was coming out of whatever seizure had taken him, gasping and gulping deep mouthfuls of air. "T-top r-right", he stammered. "G-gold… big, b-big… and it's in the top right hole…"

"Okay", crooned Longbottom soothingly. "Anything else?"

Malfoy shook his head and immediately grimaced, as if moving was painful. "T-too conf-fused…"

"Alright", said Potter just as softly. "Don't worry, I think it's over now…"

"Oh, and you would know, h-how, exactly?" snarked Malfoy, though he was too breathless to make it truly nasty.

Longbottom and Potter shared a glance that spoke volumes; too bad it was in a language Terry wasn't familiar with.

Something stood out clear as day to him, however: "You're used to this", he stated flatly.

They all turned to look at him, questioningly.

"You… this…" he made a generic motion to indicate the whole situation. "You've done this before, calmed someone down after a… a vision."

Longbottom chuckled weakly. "Let's say Harry has given all of us some practice."

"Potter?" blinked Terry, honestly surprised. He was under the impression that the green-eyed boy _loathed_ Divination.

"Figures Perfect Potter would be a Seer…" said Malfoy bitterly. Terry was struck by the sudden insight that the blond was jealous – terribly so. It was probably spoiling Ishizu's gift for him, the idea that his rival had such an ability naturally.

But Potter denied it immediately. "No. Not a Seer… definitely not. And I don't get visions like yours, glimpses of the future." He shook his head ruefully. "No, I… I sometimes get to see what Voldemort's doing at the moment."

Terry and Malfoy turned to him with identical expressions of utter shock.

Potter shrugged, uneasy. "It's… well, it kind of happens when he's feeling a particularly strong emotion… like when he's torturing someone, for instance…"

"You… can see when the Dark Lord tortures someone", said Malfoy very slowly, in a tone of complete disbelief.

"Not always", denied Potter defensively, "but yeah… it happens."

"It happens an awful lot", muttered Longbottom despondently.

"Yes, well." Potter shrugged, as if to say it wasn't a big deal. "It's not as bad as it sounds." He ignored the snorts from Longbottom and Granger. "Though if Avery doesn't shape up… I swear, that idiot is under Cruciatus more often than…" he trailed off, shrugging again.

Malfoy mouthed the name 'Avery' in a daze, staring at Potter as if he'd never seen him before.

"Anyway, these… nightmares… visions… whatever… tend to wake the entire dorm up, unfortunately, so my friends kind of have experience with, huh, helping me with the after-effects and such…" Potter was babbling, noted Terry, and looking awfully guilty: just what was going through that mind of his? Did the moron expect them to blame him for something like this? If Terry was to be completely honest, the only thought that rang in his mind at the moment was 'thank God it's not me'!

Longbottom, who'd stepped aside for a moment, came back with a colourful flower, the size and rough shape of a cup. He was trying rather unsuccessfully to cast the _aguamenti _spell. "Ah, damn… I usually manage it when I need to water my plants… _aguamenti! Aguamenti!"_

Terry moved to help him, but a jet of water had finally exploded from Longbottom's wand, dousing an area of soil, but also effectively filling the cup-like flower.

"Here!" said the tall boy triumphantly, holding it out to Malfoy.

The blond sneered and started to reject it, but Potter squeezed his shoulder sharply: "It'll make you feel a whole lot better, trust me on this."

Reluctantly, the Slytherin drank it down, trying unsuccessfully to hide how thirsty he really was. Terry noticed that what little colour he usually had was returning to his pale cheeks.

"So", said Granger briskly. "Either something gold and big with holes, or something gold _inside_ the holes of something big, did I get that right?"

Malfoy stared blankly at her. Then he reluctantly nodded. "It was something very big _and_ gold, and I desperately wanted something that was in the top-right hole of the thing. Don't know what, though. And I couldn't see clearly, it was too dim."

"Well, we'll keep an eye out for it", said Longbottom firmly.

"Just tell us when you're ready to go, alright, Malfoy?" Potter squeezed the other boy's shoulder one last time and got up, moving a little way to the side to scrutinize the surrounding vegetation, and the strong and vibrant canopy layer that the crowns of the taller trees formed above their heads.

It was only a few moments before the blond was able to stand on somewhat firm legs and they started moving again, Terry taking the lead and walking swiftly on the rich unstable compost that was the forest's ferns-covered ground.

He rounded an enormous trunk, covered in moss and climbing rattans, that he was almost sure was a mahogany tree, only to stop abruptly in his tracks.

Beyond it, the natural environment was cleft by two paths, splitting towards their left and right, that could be nothing but magically built.

Aside for going in different directions, they were identical, and made of a series of gigantic _lemon yellow_ squares, not unlike those of a common board game in shape and arrangement, but huge – the five of them could have easily fit on each of them without having to stand too close to each other.

Terry didn't even try and guess what material they were made of: it wasn't stone, didn't look like wood, was too rough for glass and felt too natural to be plastic…

On the first square, the only one the two diverging paths had in common, lay innocently a pair of dice, one black with white dots, the other white with black dots, both more or less the size of a quaffle.

"Well", commented Terry, dazed. "That explains all the rules about dice rolls."


	12. Twelve

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_On the first square, the only one the two diverging paths had in common, lay innocently a pair of dice, one black with white dots, the other white with black dots, both more or less the size of a quaffle._

_"Well", commented Terry, dazed. "That explains all the rules about dice rolls."_

* * *

><p>With a sigh, Terry moved to gather the dice and promptly threw them, before he thought better of it. They rolled until the black one stopped on a five and the white one on a three; instantly three squares on each path lit up, emitting an eerie glow that seemed confined to two inches above them.<p>

"Alright", said Potter with forced lightness. "At least it's easy to understand. We can move three squares either way. Uncomplicated, I like that. Do we stick with going left?"

"Wait. What about the black die? We should be able to move eight squares, shouldn't we?" frowned Granger.

Terry shook his head. "No, the _Player's Handbook_ mentioned that the white die governs the Explorers Squad, that would be us by the way, while the black one is for the Temple's Dark Guardian. I assumed we would only use the white one, but apparently we're the ones determining our opponent's chances at movement as well…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa", said Longbottom with wide eyes. "_Dark Guardian?_"

Terry nodded. "According to the rules, one player interprets the Dark Guardian and has the task to prevent the others, the Explorers, from finding the treasure that is our ultimate goal. I think that most likely, whoever set this up is playing that role, the same way Ishizu Ishtar was playing White in the last match."

"What treasure?" asked Granger. "How are we to find it?"

"And what does it mean, 'prevent us' from finding the treasure, exactly?" asked Malfoy suspiciously.

Terry hesitated, not really knowing how to summarize the booklet efficiently. "From what I gather, we must first find the Temple, fetch a Sword that should be in there somewhere, than go to the Idol in a room inside the Temple, and finally get the treasure… a blood ruby, apparently… that we're supposed to retrieve. If we manage to get it out of the Idol's range, we win."

"Why do I have the feeling you're leaving something important out?" asked Malfoy acidly.

"And you haven't mentioned this Dark Guardian in your rundown", added Potter with a frown.

Terry sighed. "Here, I'll read you the _Introduction_ to the _Player's Handbook_." he said, whipping the booklet out of his robe pocket. He read aloud: "_Buried deep in the web of the impenetrable jungle lies a forgotten temple. Within its walls lurks an awesome idol, harbouring a priceless gem known as the Bloodstone. The Idol will only surrender his precious treasure to the one who draws the Golden Sword - the key that will unleash the hidden treasure from deep within the Idol's stony heart. Those who seek the precious Bloodstone must overcome many dangers. Before the doors of the Inner Temple are the perilous Wheels of Death, set to throw intruders into a dark abyss. A Guardian prowls within the temple walls, jealously guarding the path that leads to the treasure, ready to send thieves to the gaping Pit of Bones. Only the most valiant adventurer will vanquish every challenge and seize the fabled treasure..." _He stopped.

"Right. Right. Get to the Temple, get the Sword, get to the Idol, get the Bloodstone; avoid falling into traps, being caught in mysterious deadly wheels – whatever they might be – and getting turned into a pile of bloody bones by our opponent or something. Like I said, straightforward…" said Potter feebly.

"Idol… big, gold thing! It must be what Malfoy's vision was about!" exclaimed Granger.

"Not to play Augurey here, but wasn't the title of this Game 'The _Curse_ of the Idol'?" pointed out Malfoy.

Terry smiled grimly. "The Curse is what we get if we fail."

There was silence. The rainforest quiet noises seemed louder than a moment before. The yellow squares continued to glow eerily.

Finally, Potter sighed. "No sense in borrowing troubles. Left? Right? As long as we go, I don't really mind…"

"Left", said Longbottom firmly.

"Alright", said Terry, and scooped up the dice before walking smartly along the left path, stopping on the third square.

The others followed and the yellow glow disappeared suddenly as soon as the last of them stepped on the square. Of course, Potter, being Potter, decided to check out the workings of the Game, just in case, and bumped harshly on an invisible barrier that prevented him from leaving the square again: a few moments' worth of tries confirmed that it had sprung around the whole square, effectively trapping them, presumably until they rolled the dice again.

When Terry did so, getting a four on the white dice, the squares alit both before them and at their backs, allowing them to retrace their steps if they so wished. Nobody saw the point in it, however, and so they went on, doing their best to ignore the fluttering variety of colourful birds and other small creatures that animated the rainforest all around them.

Once, Terry thought he'd spotted a pair of orange glowing eyes amidst the green, but whatever they belonged to was watching a square they didn't stop on and didn't seem interested in them. Good.

It was on the third dice roll that suddenly, a peculiar but not unpleasant stroll through the luxuriant vegetation turned into a deadly trap.

Malfoy, who was bringing up the rear, had barely set foot on the square that was their current destination when the weird stone _disappeared_ from under their feet, plunging them into a pitfall trap.

There were collective yelps and groans, but by some miracle, no one was seriously injured.

"At least there are no spikes to be impaled on", joked Granger weakly.

Terry glared at her just as weakly.

"Oh, yes, that is _such_ a lucky break!" grumbled Malfoy, dusting himself off with a disgusted air. "Never mind that we're trapped here and will slowly but surely starve to death, let's think positive…" His sarcasm was thick enough to touch.

Potter rolled his eyes.

"This is a _Bauhinia guainensis_", interrupted Longbottom, who was tugging and prodding a sickly brown liana with a flattened profile and slight indentations that looked a little like steps.

"Oh, fantastic, we know the name of the hideous thing, now _that_ will be useful…"

Longbottom raised his voice and talked right over him: "It's called 'monkey ladder', because it's unbelievably sturdy and often provides arboreal animals with paths across the forest. It's very resistant and won't break even under heavy weight…"

"We don't need a Herbology lesson, Longbottom, the situation is dire enough without being bored to death!" was Malfoy's snide comment; but Terry, unlike the blond, had caught on: "You think we can safely use it to climb back up to the path?" he asked excitedly.

"Positive", confirmed Longbottom. That shut Malfoy up rather nicely.

"Well, if we've got a plan, hurry up, I don't like this one bit", came Potter's voice.

Turning to him, Terry saw the dark-haired boy had whipped out his wand and was eyeing balefully a long, horizontal crack in the humid earth, about ten inches wide, that ran all along one wall of the trap, near the ground. It looked like a grinning mouth, ready to spit out something.

Malfoy's wand was out in an instant as well and the blond looked pale and worried.

"Let's not waste any time, then", said Terry decisively, moving to collect the dice that had fallen along with them. He did _not_ want to be trapped by as silly a mistake as losing the dice!

Granger was already halfway up the liana, scrambling with some difficulties to heave herself up, while Longbottom tried to help her from below.

Then it was Terry's turn, while the smart girl cleverly levitated the dice up to leave his hands free.

It was a pity that Levitation Charms did not work reliably for living beings and were therefore not a good solution in an emergency. It was also a pity that he was so out of shape, he had troubles drawing breath, damn it all, and right when he desperately needed it, he would have to see about some sort of training regime when he got out of this mess!

Terry paused a moment before the last effort to get out, gripping the liana tightly, panting harshly, trying to find the strength to haul himself up.

And all hell broke lose.


	13. Thirteen

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_Terry paused a moment before the last effort to get out, gripping the liana tightly, panting harshly, trying to find the strength to haul himself up._

_And all hell broke lose._

* * *

><p>"Watch out!"<p>

"What? Where?"

"Over there!"

"What the hell!"

"What is it?"

"It's getting out!"

The cacophony of cries was confusing, but a half-glance behind his shoulder told Terry everything he needed to know: they were in big troubles.

What looked like a black cloak, roughly half an inch thick and as black as the dead of night, was slowly coming out of the crack and gliding along the ground, appearing to spread itself to cover every spot on its path in a lethal search for prey.

"Lethifold!" bellowed Potter, as usual the most reactive in front of a threat from Dark Creatures, instantly jumping back a few steps and raising his wand.

Malfoy screamed, and Terry felt his own very real terror echo terribly in his shriek.

"Keep moving! It prefers to attack victims that are asleep or unconscious! Don't stay still! Move! Move!" screeched Granger from above him.

Terry jolted and grabbed the liana more tightly, his earlier tiredness completely forgotten thanks to the adrenalin that fear was pumping in his veins.

"Get out of here! Get up, get out!" shouted Potter.

"_Stupeficium!"_ That was Malfoy, and judging by his cry of frustration and terror, his spell had been ineffectual.

Terry scrambled desperately to climb the last bit of slope, feeling Longbottom below, panting and puffing and whimpering in fear and distress as he tried to mount and barely managed.

Weak attempts at shields sounded from the two still in the pitfall, along with Potter's anxious: "Get the fuck OUT!"

Terry grasped at the very dirt, his fingers skittering uselessly on the cold, humid earth, desperation alone giving him the strength to climb out of the deadly trap.

He turned, gasping for breath, and barely registered that Granger was trying to haul Longbottom out as well before he propelled himself forward to help in her effort, hands grasping blindly at the robes of the heavy boy; right on time, as the tall Gryffindor had lost his grip on the liana and was about to fall.

"Malfoy! Get out!" Potter's voice was harried.

"Don't be an idiot, Potter! We must find a way to stop that thing!"

"Go! I'll hold it off!"

"Harry!" Granger's cry was full of distress.

"Potter, you suicidal jerk! Much as I'd like to dump you here and forget your existence, we need your scrawny ass to get out of this freaking Tournament!" shouted Malfoy.

"For fuck's sake Malfoy! I know what I'm doing! Just GO!"

Just what was that idiot planning on doing?

Malfoy launched himself at the liana and climbed up with the speed of a monkey, while Potter took a step towards the creature and planted himself firmly on his parted legs, wand held high, utterly still; facing the slwoly advancing death with no apparent fear.

Terry had a brief, lengthy instant in which to notice, with a sort of distant daze, that all those stories were wrong: you don't see your past life flash before your eyes when you're about to die. Instead, he got a much worse accelerated movie of Potter's messy death and their subsequent slow agony, and watched in horror as the fast-forwarded scenes showed the four of them painfully surviving on the forest nuts and fruits and arboreal frogs, until a dreadful combination of fur and teeth and claws finally ended their miserable existences.

Then Potter's voice yelled confidently: "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A blinding flash of white erupted from his raised wand, and it was only a moment before Terry could recognize a gorgeous stag, that charged the Lethifold without hesitation, planting its silvery-white antlers straight into the horrid thing, blasting it away.

Terry's eyes were riveted on the beautiful apparition and he was startled when Potter's head suddenly appeared near his feet, a hand held up in a wordless request for help.

He flushed when Granger bumped him out of the way and grabbed her best friend's hand, ashamed to realize he'd been too dazed to help.

A quick glance down the trap proved that the Lethifod had retired; a moment later, Malfoy launched himself at Potter, slapping him with trasport. "You damned idiot!"

"Oy! What the hell, Malfoy!"

"How dare you risk yourself like that! I don't want to be trapped here by your stupidity, Potter, so curb that death wish of yours!"

"Fuck you, Malfoy! I don't have a death wish! I had it sorted!"

"Sorted!" screeched Malfoy. "Sure, of course, obviously!"

"The only spell that works to repell Lethifolds is the Patronus Charm! I..."

"Which is one of the most difficult spells invented! Most adult wizards can't even cast it!"

"Well, I can!"

"You couldn't have been sure! You moron! You gambled everything on a spell that might not have worked... If the thing hadn't been corporeal it would not have been enough..."

"I've been casting a corporeal Patronus since I was in third year!"

Malfoy scoffed. "And you expect me to believe that?"

"Damn you, Malfoy, I-"

BANG!

Terry jumped a foot high at the loud, sudden noise. Wands were out and pointed almost instantly, but rather than an enemy, there stood Longbottom, an horrendous bulb with protruding blue-black appendages that he had quite clearly just sqeezed in his hands.

"Thunder Spud", he explained serenely, showing it off. "It maxes a loud, explosion noise if squeezed. I thought nothing less might catch your attention..." He was abnormally pale, but spoke brazenly nonetheless.

"Terry?" Granger's gentle voice startled him almost as badly as the loud bang. "Are you alright?"

"What?" he squeaked, then cleared his voice embarrassed. "Yes, yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? It's not like I have _nearly died_ after all!" he said a little hysterically. "For the _second time_ in just a few hours, I might add!"

"I know", said Potter easily. "It can be annoying."

Terry was completely taken aback.

"Annoying? You call this _annoying?_ We almost died!" he cried.

"Almost, Terrry", said Potter patiently. "Almost doesn't count."

"B-but... but that thing tried to kill us!"

"So?" Potter actually looked puzzled.

"Well, this is a new experience for me!" Terry snapped childishly.

Potter shrugged. "Happens to me all the time", he deadpanned.

Terry could only gawk.

"Shouldn't we go on?" reiterated Longbottom. "I think I see some stone walls."

"Where?" asked everybody, curiously or anxiously.

"Over there... just beyond those _huge snakes_", answered Longbottom with a calm that Terry suddenly recognized as a sign of looming hysteria.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: I'm unfortunately going to have to call a brief hiatus, due to a RL deadline that was supposed to be on the 19 having suddenly been moved up to the 14... which means I'm awfully late and will likely spend the next few days - and nights - drawing structural components and floor plans... If all goes well, I should start posting again next Friday or so.  
>Until then!<br>Luna_


	14. Fourteen

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_"Terry?" Granger's gentle voice startled him almost as badly as the loud bang. "Are you alright?"_

_"What?" he squeaked, then cleared his voice embarrassed. "Yes, yes, of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? It's not like I have nearly died after all!" he said a little hysterically. "For the second time in just a few hours, I might add!"_

_"Shouldn't we go on?" reiterated Longbottom. "I think I see some stone walls."_

_"Where?" asked everybody, curiously or anxiously._

_"Over there... just beyond those huge snakes", answered Longbottom with a calm that Terry suddenly recognized as a sign of looming hysteria._

* * *

><p>A roll of the dice and they stepped out of the warm humidity of the forest and into the dry cold of the stone corridors. There they stood in the single beam of light coming from outside, waiting.<p>

Potter was still out behind them, outside the weirdly carved and moss-covered walls of the Temple Longbottom had, indeed, found, chatting away with the snakes he had easily persuaded to let them pass without problems.

By talking to them.

Terry sighed.

He hadn't been as scared as his pureblood friends when Potter had suddenly started hissing at the Duelling Club in their Second Year.

First, because he was still rather new at the whole magic thing and chalked the ability up to some spell or enchantment, like everything else unexpected around him.

Then, because he'd looked up the ability in a series of books and had discovered that while in England, thanks to the Slytherin line, Parseltongue had a reputation for being a Dark Art, elsewhere it wasn't so, in Greece for instance, Parselmouths were considered great Healers, because of Hyppocrates being one, and other cultures had other associations for the skill, and for snakes in general.

So he hadn't bought in the hysteria and mass panic that year and had felt smugly superior thanks to his better-informed acceptance.

He had to admit, though, that hearing those unnatural sounds coming from Potter's throat up close... it was creepy. And rather frightening too.

He shivered, trying to shake those creepy hisses from his memory, then hastily cast a warming charm, to make it look like it was the cold that was bothering him. By the scathing look Malfoy shot him, he wasn't fooled; but the blond kept silent.

Terry could tell that the Slytherin was troubled; why, though, was anyone's guess. Maybe he was shaken by their brush with death - Terry sure as hell was; maybe he was still shocked that Potter could cast a corporeal Patronus - if he hadn't known beforehand, Terry too would have been stunned. Maybe the reminder that Potter was a Parselmouth had unsettled him. Or maybe he was just tired of this whole damn Shadow Tournament – Terry could sure sympathize with _that_.

He watched disgustedly as a chirpy Potter caught up with them, gushing about the snakes he'd met.

Just what was that Gryffindor made of, that he could bounce back from the scare they had without a qualm and immediately throw himself head on in the next potentially lethal situation?

What did he have that Terry didn't?

Or maybe it was that he _lacked_ something – common sense, or self-preservation instincts or...

"Terry?" once again, Granger gently calling him startled him. "Do you want me to handle the dice this time?" she asked.

Terry blushed, catching the impatient looks that told him he'd been lost in his thoughts longer than he'd realized. "N-no. No! I'm alright, I promise!" he said hurriedly. He scowled at Malfoy's snort and threw the dice viciously.

They bounced off the stone walls and the noise echoed loudly down the corridor. Six and one.

The squares lit up as usual, though now the yellow glow seemed much brighter because of the surrounding darkness.

"It seems the path splits again", he said a little inanely, because everybody could see the fork, just four squares further. "Do we turn right or go on straight?"

"You choose", said Potter almost cheerfully.

"Yeah, Boot; lead the way!" smiled Longbottom.

"What?" burst out Malfoy. "Why in the name of Morgana's pet boggart would we follow _him_ of all people?"

He blithely ignored Potter's incredulous, choked laughter of 'Morgana's pet _boggart?_' and rounded on Terry with outrage: "Who died and put you in charge, I'd like to know?"

Terry felt the vein on his temple throb in irritation. He'd _asked_ what they wanted to know, it's not like he'd made an unilateral decision and expected them to comply!

He opened his mouth to give the arrogant berk a piece of his mind, but Potter beat him to it: "Why did we put _you_ in charge of the Dunsany Chess match?", he asked in a dangerously mild tone.

Malfoy sneered bitterly: "Because no one else would do it!"

Potter was by the blond in a flash, his hands fisted in the front of the Slytherin's robes, utterly ignoring his cry of protest. "Wrong!" he hissed furiously. "It was because you were the _best_ at that!"

He released the spluttering blond, making him stumble a little.

Terry felt himself blush and pale at the same time, as impossible as that was. Did Potter mean…?

"Oh, and Boot is the best at this, I take it?" mocked Malfoy, snide incredulity dripping from his every word. "Please. He could barely keep himself together through the first few obstacles…"

Terry lowered his head in shame. It was true. He was pathetic and useless…

"Nonsense!" rebuked Potter, making him jump before he realized the other boy was replying to Malfoy rather than to Terry's thoughts. "He reacted like any sane person would…"

"Confirming you're not sane then", snarked Malfoy, automatically, as if insulting Potter was such an ingrained reaction by now that it came out without thought.

Potter scowled furiously but didn't reply.

Granger interjected reasonably: "Terry is the one who knows all the rules, it makes sense to trust him with this!"

Terry felt bolstered. Memorizing rules and knowing things by heart in general was right up his alley.

Maybe Malfoy was wrong. Maybe he _could_ do this.

He took a deep breath and stated: "I think was should stick to the same direction at every fork, that way we keep confusion to a minimum." He was pleased that his voice didn't tremble. Much.

He wanted to show Potter and the others that they were right in trusting him, that he did in fact know what he was doing.

"Left, then?" asked Longbottom encouragingly.

"Well, it would be 'straight on' this time, but that's the general idea, yeah. Let's call it 'not right'", Terry joked.

The Gryffindors chuckled a little. Malfoy sniffed in contempt, but offered no further opposition, so they moved on.

Torches flared up at regular intervals as they walked, illuminating a corridor that seemed to go on forever. When they passed the apparently identical one departing to the right, they saw that it, too, went on into the darkness with no end in sight.

Terry briefly wondered about the relative size of the cavern they were in and the temple inside it. Then snorted. Right, right… magic!... Whatever.

It did raise a concern however. If the temple was a maze of unknown size... how were they to find the Sword they needed?

* * *

><p><em>AN:__ Well, I'm back! For various reasons however, I won't be able to go back to the daily updates just now. I think I'll post every three days instead... Luna_


	15. Fifteen

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_Terry briefly wondered about the relative size of the cavern they were in and the temple inside it. Then snorted. Right, right… magic!... Whatever._

_It did raise a concern however. If the temple was a maze of unknown size... how were they to find the Sword they needed?_

* * *

><p>Lost in thought, pondering their next move, Terry barely noticed that the last lit square before them had an intricate carving etched on its surface, creating a bas-relief of what looked like four connected wheels of different sizes.<p>

No sooner had they all reached the square, however, that a flash of reddish light ran instantaneously along the lines of the bas-relief, like liquid fire, almost immediately put out, but followed at once by a distant, ominous rumbling.

They glanced at each other nervously.

"What was that?" asked Longbottom fearfully.

"No clue", answered Terry worriedly.

They remained in tense silence for a few long instants, straining to hear more, but the temple was once again silent.

Terry looked interrogatively at the others. The Gryffindors shook their heads, various degrees of perplexity and worry on their faces. Malfoy just sneered, which Terry took to mean he didn't know what was going on either. He bit his lips. He had a vague idea of what it might be, especially in connection to the carving under their feet, but didn't feel confident enough to share his guess.

"Nothing for it, then", he said simply and taking a deep breath, he rolled the dice again.

Somewhere in the temple, the Dark Guardian would move four squares. Before and behind them, three squares lit up.

Terry led the way and almost immediately spotted that they would end on another, identically etched, square. A moment later he realized that the stone wall on their right was unexpectedly breached by a series of tall, narrow holes, that reminded Terry of cathedral windows, albeit without glass.

The corridor they were in was absolutely chilly, but warmer air drifted in from the holes and it carried a hint of smoke smell with it, as if from distant fires.

Terry broke into a run, hurrying to the first, tall stone sill to try and look out of a 'window', the others right on his heels.

As they all reached the carved square, the rumble happened again, and this time it was much louder, clearly happening on the other side of the window-like holes; and indeed, a simple glance through them allowed them to see its cause.

The vast hall that lay under their eyes was instinctively dismissed as unimportant, while the eyes fastened on its centre, where a huge pool of smoking lava stood out brightly in the surrounding darkness, the vivid red of the flames making the black stones around it seem even sharper.

Above it, apparently suspended on the very lava flow, four enormous wheels lay horizontally, interlocked. Terry could barely make out squares on them in paths, identical to those they'd followed so far. Clearly, they were expected to walk on those wheels at one point.

"The Wheels of Death!" he breathed in terrified awe. Nothing he'd read in the _Handbook_ had prepared him to this spectacle!

The smallest wheel, the furthest one from where the entrance to the temple was, appeared to be inserted in a wall and supporting a revolving door. Terry would bet a lot that that was the way in to the Idol's room: their final goal.

As they watched, the slowly turning wheels stopped their interconnected movement and settled in a pattern that united or interrupted the paths of squares at random. The rumble died down and unexpectedly, flames flared up through the very wheels, not damaging them but making it clearly impossible to step on them, except for the yellow squares, that suddenly seemed frighteningly narrow and flimsy.

"Merlin's pants!" gasped Longbottom right next to Terry.

"Look!" exclaimed Potter suddenly, arm stretched to point down to the Wheels. "Over there, at the edge of the largest Wheel!"

Terry squinted, trying to see what the other boy was pointing out amidst the fumes and flickering shadows. Granger's squeal and Malfoy's muttered curse only made him more determined to spot whatever it was.

At last, he identified the huge black stone where something long and thin sparkled at odd moments, apparently chained to the rock. He gasped: "The Sword!"

"Oh, how do we reach it?" fretted Granger. "We're on the wrong floor and I don't see stairs…"

With sudden decisiveness, Terry climbed onto the tall 'windowsill', feeling bolstered and exhilarated by the idea of his companions depending on him, on his decision-making skills. He leaned out recklessly, craning his neck to see better. Nervousness or excitement made him miscalculate his momentum however and he felt himself lose balance. All of a sudden, the dark chasm under the window-like hole seemed kilometres long and Terry felt his heart beating wildly in his throat as he tried frantically to catch himself on the stone.

Thankfully, Longbottom's strong arms circled his waist swiftly and prevented him falling to his death.

Gulping, he braced himself better and glanced back sheepishly at his saviour. "Thanks, huh, I—sorry!..."

Longbottom smile. "It's ok. I've got you. Just be careful, alright?"

Terry pretended not to hear Malfoy's derogatory comment on his brain power and leaned out of the hole again, carefully this time, unspeakably grateful for the tall Gryffindor's arms securely holding him back.

Knowing his eye for details was one of his strength, he concentrated on seeing and memorizing as many elements of the visible scene as possible, committing everything on sight to heart.

"Right", he said at last. "I can spot only one entry point to the Hall of the Wheels. We must go back…"

"And why am I not surprised that you were leading us the wrong way?" asked Malfoy snidely.

"Shut up, Malfoy, nobody's interested in your opinion", shot back Potter tiredly.

Terry ignored them both.

"…and try to find the stairs that must be there."

He went on ignoring the ensuing squabble ("Oh, they must be there, must they? Well, we're sorted then…" - "Malfoy, give it a rest!"); instead, he silently climbed down the sill and promptly threw the dice.

They got a two and stifled sighs and groans as they moved back so little.

However before Terry could scoop up the dice again the sound of light running footsteps came from just beyond the corner they had passed earlier.

They froze, their eyes sliding to the black die of their own volition. It showed six white dots, gleaming in the light of the torches.

An instant later, a black clad figure rounded the corner, a mane of flowing white hair bouncing erratically behind him.

Grinning maniacally, the white-haired stranger charged them, grabbed Potter around the waist and disappeared in a flash of blue-white light, leaving the four of them completely stunned.


	16. Sixteen

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_A black clad figure rounded the corner, a mane of flowing white hair bouncing erratically behind him._

_Grinning maniacally, the white-haired stranger charged them, grabbed Potter around the waist and disappeared in a flash of blue-white light, leaving the four of them completely stunned._

* * *

><p>A ringing silence filled the corridor for long instants after the surprising development. Stunned, the four remaining teenagers could only look at each other uncertainly.<p>

Eventually Granger, as pale as a ghost and tormenting her lower lip viciously, moved hesitantly towards the spot where the white-haired apparition had vanished.

Her feeble _lumos_ was directed to the point on the wall that the stranger had grazed with apparent casualness, barely highlighting what looked like scratches on the stone.

"It's… it's what h-he touched," she said almost apologetically.

Terry was startled at how unsure and unsettled she sounded: he'd never seen her like this, she was always confident, determined and annoyingly bossy. Now instead… her entire demeanour, from her pallor to her frantic wringing of her sleeve, spoke of concern and upset. Vaguely, he realized that she had to be truly worried for Potter. She was probably used to his disappearances meaning he was in mortal danger… come to think of it… could he be? He felt too dumb with shock to remember properly what the Dark Guardian could and couldn't do… but surely Potter could survive anything, right? Not even the Dark Lord had ever managed to off him… surely they didn't need to worry so…

"It looks like a hieroglyph…" she said with a visible effort to pull herself together.

"Transportation Sign," came Malfoy's voice, in an oddly flat monotone. "You run a finger along the lines in the correct sequence and it sends you to a pre-determined arrival spot," he explained, his eyes unfocused as he stared dully at the spot where Potter and their opponent had disappeared. "I've seen it done with Runes."

He was completely expressionless and was offering his comments with such a detached air it was like he wasn't even there with them.

Granger nodded uncertainly. "Could we… could we use it to track down Harry, do you think?"

Longbottom said nervously: "B-but… I mean it… it could be d-dangerous…"

Granger bit her lip: "You're right… it could be a trap… and we're not sure of what would happen if we use it wrong… we cannot risk it…" she said, upset, "but we have to find Harry!"

That seemed to shake Malfoy out of his detachment. "Why?" he cried, suddenly looking furious. "Why, for all that's magical? Why should we risk ourselves to go and rescue the bloody idiot, just because he went looking for troubles _again_!"

"Harry doesn't go looking for trouble," retorted Granger, indignant. "Trouble usually finds _him_."

She stopped abruptly, as if realizing what she'd just said, then she chuckled and a bit of colour returned to her along with her smile. She shook her head a little. "Trouble usually finds him…" she repeated in mid-voice, as if telling an inside joke to herself.

Terry couldn't fathom why – and judging by the way Malfoy was gaping he couldn't either – but for whatever reason, the line had returned to Granger all her assurance and resolve.

"Right, well," she declared in a very definitive tone, "whether you like it or not, Malfoy, we're going to find Harry, so you better get over your tantrum and quickly."

The Slytherin spluttered with indignation, but she ignored him with supreme aplomb.

"Anyone has any idea how to go about it...?" she asked instead. "Terry?"

Terry blinked at the note of hope in her voice. He suddenly felt like a deer caught in headlights, but… they trusted him. They'd said so clearly, hadn't they? They trusted him to know the rules and lead them safely to victory in this absurd game… and he could do it. He could! It was just… he needed… time, or an idea, or…

For a moment, he was tempted to just shook his head pathetically, like Longbottom was doing, and tell them that he couldn't, didn't know how to, that he didn't want the responsibility, that someone else should shoulder it…

But something in him rebelled.

He _could_ do this!

He was as good as any of them, experienced adventurers and haughty purebloods and genius know-it-alls… they weren't better than him and he would _prove_ it!

And just like that, his brain kicked into gear.

"Granger… Hermione. Can you do that geometry thingy again?" he asked, the idea shaping and solidifying in his mind like a clear crystal.

"What are you talking about?" said Gr… _Hermione_ confused.

"You know, like when you took one look at the stone walls outside the first room and somehow figured out the place was a pentagon!" said Terry, staring at her unfalteringly.

"Oh… well, I…" she looked flustered and uncertain.

But Terry was on a roll: "I'll tell you everything I've memorized about the temple, you figure out its layout. We need to guess where Potter is – I think he was taken to the Pit of Bones so if we have an idea of how the temple is organized…"

"…we can get to Harry", finished Gr-Hermione with the relief of someone who's finally understood the situation. "Right, let's get to it!"

In less then ten minutes, they had a tentative layout sketched out in the dust accumulated near the walls, the product of Terry rattling off everything he could wrack his memory for and Granger… Hermione… drawing the most logical conclusion as to relative size and position of the various rooms and corridors.

Terry studied it critically. The vast hall with the Wheels at the centre, the Inner Temple beyond them, most likely, the corridor they were in and, they guessed, a twin one on the other side of the building, since there had been another path through the forest, running around the perimeter… stairs out of sight and therefore probably along the outer walls, down the corridor they had left to their right when they entered and, possibly, at the end of this one and its mirror one… and the Pit of Bones, then, in the 'white space' of their improvised map…

The validity of their conjectures was confirmed by Malfoy's rather grudging "Seems logical."

"So… we… hum… we have a plan?" asked Longbottom weakly, still looking rather pale and uncertain.

Terry stood straight, fists clutched at his side, grim resolve filling him. "Yes: we go there, spring him out, get back," he said succinctly.

Gran…_Hermione_, smiled thinly: "Nice and simple. I like it."

Terry smiled tersely back.

With renewed determination, he threw the dice.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: Yes, I'm back! For how long and with what frequence, I know not. RL is getting increasingly complicated and I have little to no time to write as I'm preparing for the tests in September, looking for a job rather desperately and dealing with some family troubles all at once. Still, I'll do my best! ~Luna_


	17. Seventeen

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_"So… we… hum… we have a plan?" asked Longbottom weakly, still looking rather pale and uncertain._

_Terry stood straight, fists clutched at his side, grim resolve filling him. "Yes: we go there, spring him out, get back," he said succinctly._

_Gran…Hermione, smiled thinly: "Nice and simple. I like it."_

_Terry smiled tersely back._

_With renewed determination, he threw the dice._

* * *

><p>Luck was with them.<p>

It took only two rolls to get in sight of what had to be their goal: a rather gory arch-like construction made of various whitish skulls, beyond which the corridor ended plunging straight into a dark pit.

Two hands were grasping at the flagstones under the arch as they approached, desperately trying to find a grip; soon, a head of messy black hair appeared over the edge, quickly followed by angry green eyes beyond glasses with a cracked frame; then a grim snarl in a dirty face; and finally, Potter hauled himself out of the pit, his robe rather torn and very dusty, and stood under the macabre arch, cursing with transport.

Well, that simplified things… nice of him to break out on his own.

Gr-Hermione barely managed to wait for the next die roll before she launched herself at the boy, squeezing him in a hug that threatened to send them both tumbling into the pit. Fortunately, Potter seemed ready for it and promptly balanced his weight better to compensate for the girl's momentum and then hugged her back, letting her babble incoherently into his shoulder with just a slight smile.

"You lot alright?" he asked looking past her to the other three boys.

Terry stared incredulously: "You're the one who got kidnapped, Potter!"

The Gryffindor shrugged. "I'm fine."

Hermione released him and took a step back, snorting. "Fine!" she repeated huffily.

Potter smiled, half ruefully half amusedly. "I _am_ fine, Hermione! It was dirty and bleak, and irritating as hell, but not really dangerous or anything."

She sniffed. "Dirty, I can see that!" she exclaimed, detaching herself from him and wrinkling her nose.

Quick as lightning, she fired a _scourgify_ at Potter and then a _tergeo_ at herself, sticking out her tongue at him in response to his mock-scowl.

"If you're quite done…" interjected Malfoy acidly.

Hermione ignored the Slytherin and stared hard at her friend: "Are you really ok, Harry?" she asked with the utmost seriousness.

Potter looked uncomfortable but shrugged nonetheless: "It was just... just spiders, Hermione. Honest. Rather annoying but... nothing much. I wasn't bitten or anything and climbing out was easier than I'd feared at first. Though if Ron had been here..."

They shared a chuckle: Weasley's fear of spider was an open secret.

Hermione looked appeased, but it was Longbottom's time to nervously question Potter.

"Is… is _he _here?" the boy asked, glancing around apprehensively.

Potter shook his head. "He disappeared after dumping me there," he said with a jerky nod to the pit behind him.

Won by curiosity, Terry dared a look into the plunging darkness. On the bottom of the pit, he could barely make out what looked like a carpet of human bones.

He shivered and grimaced.

Potter came up to his left and murmured: "Macabre, huh?"

Before Terry could reply, a sudden movement in the shadows caught his attention. Something big and dark and _alive _was down there...

Potter stiffened beside him and Terry had a sudden suspicion. "When you said 'spiders'..." he started, but he didn't finish the question. He didn't need to.

Eight bright eyes, glowing with malicious intelligence, had appeared and were glaring at them from below, accompanied by an angry clicking sound and what sounded suspiciously like hissed insults, coming from a _something _covered in thick black hair. Horrified, Terry noticed the light of the torches glinting off a set of giant fangs that were _bound _to be venomous, he just knew it! And it was huge. Terry judged the leg span had to be almost fifteen feet!

The _thing_ hissed and clicked a moment longer, then retreated slowly into the farther darkness of the pit.

Terry turned to Potter, horrified, and found that he didn't even have the words to question the other boy.

Potter shrugged uneasily and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Did you know that Hagrid has created a colony of Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest?" he whispered offhandedly, but without meeting Terry's eyes.

It was the Ravenclaw's turn to stiffen. "_What!"_

That… that was… Potter couldn't be serious… oh, dear God…

"Ron and I had an interesting lesson in negotiating with their kind, couple years ago or so..." the other went on with forced nonchalance.

"You... you... you are saying... you can't be serious… you… you _talked your way out_ of being eaten by a _freaking Acromantula_ after being dumped into an ossuary with it?"

He was desperately hoping to hear an 'only joking!' as an answer.

But Potter only nodded reflexively. "Diplomacy and the Spider Repelling Spell. A wonderful combo!"

Spider Repelling...? Terry was rather dazed.

"What are you looking for?" asked Hermione, suddenly appearing behind them.

Terry almost jumped and realized that he'd quite forgotten the presence of the others for a moment.

The girl's eyes narrowed and she looked both curious and suspicious. But Potter, rather surprisingly, managed to lie smoothly: "I kind of dropped my last sugar quill in there..."

Or maybe he wasn't lying. Just omitting a few _hairy_ details...

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Harry! You aren't thinking of going down to look for it, I hope!"

"Harry, that'd be crazy!" exclaimed Longbottom, looking worried.

"Nah!" Potter laughed uncomfortably. "I'll buy a few others next Hogsmeade weekend!"

And he moved away from the pit.

"_If_ we'll ever see another Hogsmeade weekend!" intervened Malfoy's funereal voice.

Terry glanced at the blond and noticed that his eyes were riveted on the pit. He had to have seen the Acromantula as well.

Judging it was high time to shake themselves from dreary thoughts, Terry shouted brightly: "Right! Well! We found Potter safe and sound, which is awesome, and now I think we all have enough of this damn temple, so how about we find the godforsaken sword at long last?"

Cheers came from the Gryffindors, along with Malfoy's acidic: "And do you have a _plan_ for this too?"

Terry's only answer was to throw the dice.

Five. Excellent! They quickly set off, retracing their previous steps. The sooner they went back and found the stairs they needed...

Terry's thoughts died away abruptly in the reverberated blaze of a blue-white lightning.

Glancing behind, the five wizards froze. The Dark Guardian had rematerialized in the square they'd just left, white hair in erratic locks around him and mad grin in place, his general look perfectly suited to the gory skulls-arch that was now framing him.

Terry groaned.


	18. Eighteen

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<span>_

_Glancing behind, the five wizards froze. The Dark Guardian had rematerialized in the square they'd just left, white hair in erratic locks around him and mad grin in place, his general look perfectly suited to the gory skulls-arch that was now framing him._

_Terry groaned._

* * *

><p>"Oh, dear. It seems I'm late… I was hoping you hadn't escaped yet! Pity…" The sardonic grin of the new-comer was as irksome as it was chilling.<p>

Terry glowered at their mysterious opponent, torn between annoyance and wariness.

The other's voice lingered for a moment in the cold corridor, then died away into silence. Nobody spoke another word. The five wizards were taking the chance to finally observe their adversary properly and stood quiet, sizing him up.

He was a tall, handsome man in his late thirties. His most striking feature was beyond doubt the white hair, almost glowing in the dim light; now that he could see it clearly, Terry realized it wasn't dyed but a natural hue, though surprisingly, his eyes were brown, rather then red or purple like Terry'd read was the case with albinos.

Everything about the stranger, from his long black leather trench coat, that seemed to be an integral part of his image, to the odd-looking silver medallion that peeked out from under it, evidently on a lace around his neck, summed up to the classical description of a refined adventurer.

Ishizu's beauty had appeared ageless and timeless, likening her to the statue of an Egyptian Queen of ancient times come to life, gorgeous and unapproachable; this man instead looked alluring and dangerous in a very _immediate_ way: the look in his eyes, the hard smile, held a little bit of come-hither and a little bit of threat, as if to say, _When you take a bite I might bite back_.

Terry found it disquieting and glanced sideways to see the others' reactions.

Potter's and Malfoy's countenance was blank and alert, and perfectly identical, to Terry's vague amusement. Longbottom was pale and guarded. And Hermione… Terry sneered. Granger's look was nothing short than admiring!

Bloody girls.

He turned back to the Dark Guardian, who was scrutinizing them with just as much interest and intensity.

After a while, the white-haired man was the one to break the silence: "Yes, a pity… but on the other hand, this makes everything more… interesting!" His shark-like grin was not at all reassuring.

None of them uttered a word and his smile widened unnervingly. "Nothing to say? Oh well… you're right after all. No words are needed among players… Let Chance speak!"

He motioned grandly to the dice that had rolled near Terry's feet, making the slim notch lapels and uncuffed sleeves of his trench coat flap impressively.

Terry hesitated. Obeying their adversary didn't exactly strike him as a good move. Then again, it's not like they had many choices. If they didn't play, they would be stuck there… forever.

He tensed and without taking his eyes off the Dark Guardian, he murmured in as low a voice as he dared: "I'm going to throw the dice… be ready to run as far as the roll will let us. We must try and escape him before he separates us again…"

He felt more than saw their nods and let the dice fly.

A heartfelt curse slipped out of his mouth.

One! A damn fucking _one_! And their opponent got a freaking _five_!

Just _perfect_.

Wands were out almost instantly and the dismayed groans of his team-mates mingled with the Guardian's triumphant laugh, even as they moved as far away from him as they managed – which wasn't much, unfortunately.

Terry clasped his wand firmly, but even as he turned to face the threat, he had an awful suspicion that it might not do him much good after all.

The white-haired menace started towards them, grin threateningly in place, and it was immediately clear he was targeting _him_: Terry froze with sudden, overwhelming terror. _Potter_ might be able to face an Acromantula and live to make light of the tale… but _he_ didn't fancy his odds!

A scream tore itself from his throat as everything around him seemed to fade, leaving only the foe charging him and his own too-loud heart beat.

Why couldn't he do anything? He knew hundreds of spells, but now that he needed them, his mind came up blank! What use was knowledge if it fell out of reach in a crisis?

Fear was numbing his reactions… he could feel his cold fingers hurting where he clasped his useless wand…

Four voices shouted in Latin around him and four slightly differently coloured shields sprang up around him, meshing and strengthening each other.

Dazed, Terry realized that all his team-mates had reacted to protect him – even _Malfoy!_ – and that shook him out of his stupor effectively.

In an instant, lists of spells with loads of details poured into his mind in sudden stark clarity, as if a dam had broken and his knowledge had eagerly burst forth in a ready flow.

Relief almost made him dizzy, but the wave of excitement in so abruptly remembering how to fight focused him at the same time and he fixed his attention again on his opponent, this time with resolve instead of fear.

For a moment, it seemed as if the Guardian wouldn't be deterred by his protections – but Terry was ready now.

Trusting his – friends? – well, allies at any rate, to defend him, he clenched his teeth and went on the offensive. Swiftly and smoothly, he fired off three hexes in an elegant chain of movements – sneezing hex, stinging hex, knee-reversal hex: one of the many combos they'd come up with and practiced in the DA, finally in use for real, and with excellent results, his rapid fire not once interrupted by a hesitant or awkward movement…

Too bad none of the spells hit the target.

At the _very_ last instant, the Dark Guardian had swerved to the side and thrown himself _beyond_ Terry, leaping between him and Hermione and tackling Longbottom instead, catching everybody off guard.

The two fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs amidst confused cries; the man's hands closed around the Gryffindor's throat and for a horrible moment, Terry thought Longbottom was being strangled.

He screamed in fear and fury, wand pointed futilely because he wouldn't dare cast, not when Longbottom might get harmed…

To his right, Potter didn't let himself be intimidated by the risk and his bellowed _relashio!_ hit the two squarely, where they were struggling on the dusty stone floor, forcing the aggressor to release its hold.

Terry wanted to kick himself. His memory very unhelpfully reminded him that the Revulsion Jinx wouldn't have hurt Longbottom in any case and that he _did_ know it. Why hadn't he thought of that?

The white-haired attacker was propelled away from the breathless Gryffindor, whose hands flew to his neck instantly, grasping frantically.

Terry watched the laughing man leap up and bound out of their reach.

Then Longbottom let out a bloodcurdling roar of rage.


	19. Nineteen

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: Yes, it's true, I'm back! :) I have a few days off and I promise I'll be working to - at least - bring this arc to a close. Luna  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_Terry watched the laughing man leap up and bound out of their reach._

_Then Longbottom let out a bloodcurdling roar of rage._

* * *

><p>"THIEF!"<p>

To Terry's shock, the normally calm boy lunged after the Dark Guardian with absolute fury. He bounced against the game's barrier painfully but he seemingly didn't notice, and threw himself at it again and again, hitting it furiously, eyes trained on the white-haired man who was dancing out of reach with a mocking laughter.

Longbottom's face was scarlet and he was incoherent with rage, so much so that odd words spluttered from his mouth: "Not… funny… don't… hand back… show him…"

Flabbergasted, Terry watched the steady, patient Gryffindor lose it completely, and hit the barrier with such rage that it _rattled_ – despite the fact that it was insubstantial!

"Give it BACK!" Longbottom screamed.

Their opponent just laughed and moved further away, nearing the stone wall.

Hermione was suddenly next to Terry, whispering with hurried worry: "Terry, you'd better throw the dice again before Neville tries to tear the game apart…"

He nodded quickly and obeyed. The dice bounced on the floor for what seemed like forever, but at last they stopped and the barrier was no longer there.

Almost before it had vanished, Longbottom was darting forward. To no avail! With a last cackle, the white-haired man brushed the wall – no, realized Terry, it was the odd symbol on the wall, what had Malfoy called it? Transportation Sign? – and vanished.

Longbottom screamed in frustration and sank to his knees, looking defeated.

They moved up to him; Terry bit his lips uncertainly, not knowing what to do. What had their foe done? Could he really have stolen something? And what might it be, that had Longbottom so upset?

Potter approached the kneeling boy, who was heaving gasping breaths, and put a hand gently on his bent shoulder.

"Neville?" he asked carefully. "What did he take?"

Longbottom raised distraught eyes to him: "My parents' locket," he answered with a dead voice.

Potter and Hermione gasped, looking stricken. Terry frowned: the way he'd said that… was Longbottom an orphan? He realized he had no clue… it's not like they talked about their families much in the DA… did he dare ask? It didn't seem like a good time.

A quiet, derisive snort came from behind him. He saw Longbottom's shoulder tense and Potter turn to glare past him with furious contempt.

Terry glanced at Malfoy. He had a strong suspicion that the blond was about to be his usual nasty jerk. He also didn't think this was a good time for it. He fingered his wand, mentally preparing for the shield he was sure he would need soon, what with the hexes that would fly in a moment or two…

"You can cut the dramatics now, Longbottom. Last thing we need is an angst-filled Griffindork wallowing in self pity for some pathetic Hufflepuffish reason!" said the Slytherin contemptuously.

Longbottom shot him a dirty look and Potter made a disgusted noise. Terry grimaced. Yep, a damn git… Hermione's tone was full of righteous anger as she addressed the blond: "How can you be so callous? I know you probably have no idea of what that locket means to Neville, but can't you at least show a little sympathy…"

"Please!" exclaimed Malfoy dismissively. "It's not like it was worth much, from what I saw."

"It was worth more… more than you… can comprehend, you shallow… narrow-minded…" cried Longbottom, livid.

Malfoy looked down on him condescendingly: "I'll buy you a new one when we get out, Longbottom, alright? Just as long as you quit whining."

Longbottom paled, eyes flashing angrily. Terry mentally face-palmed. Of all the insensitive, tactless things to say…

Potter sniffed scornfully: "There are things you cannot 'buy', Malfoy. Things that are beyond price, invaluable and irreplaceable, made so by the sentimental value they carry, not that your pea-sized brain could comprehend this… You probably have no concept of love or family, but…"

"I know what a family means much better than _you_, Potter! The Malfoys are an ancient line of pure-blood wizards. Our family name is everything to us! My heritage is so rich and various you would never truly comprehend it, for _generations_ we have…"

"But clearly, all those _generations_ of stuffy aristocrats have _completely __missed__ the__ point!_ Otherwise you wouldn't be so uncaring…"

"Bite your tongue, you moron, you're too plebeian to even wrap your mind around what it means to be a Malfoy!"

"At least I understand the _important_ things! Like how much it hurts to lose something precious to you!"

"Precious! Ha! That thing was worth next to nothing, obviously you're unable to recognize true value! I, on the other hand…"

"...are too narrow-minded to see what is clear as day to us, and don't even have enough manners to respect someone else's sorrow," spit out Hermione.

"What would you know of manners, you worthless mud-"

"Say that word, Malfoy, and I _will_ curse you," said Potter dangerously.

There was a pregnant pause. Terry's eyes darted from one opponent to the others, watching the confrontation unfold.

After a while the blond sneered: "I don't even know why I waste my time with the likes of you."

"Funny, I was thinking the same about you!" hissed Longbottom, clutching his fist and glaring at him. "It's useless to try and make you understand that _people_ have _feelings_… that s-sometimes, it d-doesn't matter if something costs a lot or… or if it is very magical… some… sometimes… even a… a gum wrapper can be… valuable…" he panted, obviously overwhelmed.

"Oh, Neville..." murmured Hermione softly.

Malfoy scoffed, folding his arms haughtily. "If you're as poor as a Weasley, perhaps! But I doubt even those blood-traitors would stoop so low."

"It's all only about money to you, isn't it?" spit Longbottom angrily, over the indignant shouts of Potter and Granger. "Money, and influence, and your precious blood purity… you're pathetic!"

"This from a crybaby cowering on the floor…" sneered Malfoy.

"Shut up!" yelled Longbottom furiously. "You overbearing… uncaring… bigoted…"

"Any person with a shred of decency would back off when seeing someone struggle with their sorrow…" piled it on Potter. "Oh, but wait, I forgot… you don't have any decency…"

Malfoy brandished his wand, outraged, and suddenly Potter had his out too. Terry and Hermione cast shields almost in unison.

Longbottom glowered at the blond balefully.

Potter growled: "You self-centred, egotistic pile of dung…"

"I'm growing rather bored with your repetitive insults, so if you're quite done?" said Malfoy snidely.

"No, I'm not!" shouted Longbottom furiously, springing to his feet. "You just don't care, do you? In your world, there is only you, you selfish…"

"Control yourself Longbottom!" yelled Malfoy acidly.

"How would _you_ feel if we insulted your parents or the regard you have for them?" asked Hermione vexed.

"Leave my parents out of this!" shouted Malfoy, incensed. "They are so far above you…"

"Not if you don't have the decency to do the same!" retorted Potter, talking over him. "Show some respect and we _might_ consider extending you the same courtesy."

"My parents _deserve_ respect! They are family members to be proud of!" shouted Malfoy. "Quite unlike _his_, from what I've heard!"

Longbottom and Potter gasped in outrage. Terry's eyes bulged in shock. Had the blond really said what he thought he'd said? He couldn't believe… the gall...

Hermione's tone was absolutely _venomous_ as she hissed in fury: "How _dare_ you!"

But Malfoy was on a roll: "Don't think I don't know the truth!... My father told me all about _them_… such great Aurors, ever so celebrated, but in the end, they weren't able to handle the job, were they?…"

"You know _nothing_…" started Potter.

"It's common knowledge that they couldn't keep up under torture… so much for being great Aurors…"

"Malfoy, I warn you!..." shouted Potter.

"My father says that their being carted off to St. Mungo's was a blessing in disguise to the family…"

Longbottom let out an anguished roar.

A split second later Terry realized that the other boy had just charged past him, heading straight for Malfoy.

Potter leapt forward and seized the back of the taller boy's robes; Longbottom struggled frantically, his fists flailing, trying desperately to get at Malfoy.

Terry managed to react with promptness, for once, and seized Longbottom's arms while Potter managed to get an arm around his neck and together they dragged him backwards, even as Longbottom kept shouting at Malfoy. The pressure Harry was exerting on his throat rendered him quite incomprehensible, but that didn't make it any less clear that his opinion of the blond was quite insulting. And totally deserved, in Terry's opinion.

The Slytherin looked, for a moment, extremely shocked.

Idiot.

What else did he expect after what he said? If it had been _his_ parents the blond insulted… well, Terry wasn't sure he wouldn't choose to remain trapped here just to have the chance to murder the disgusting jackass!

He had a feeling the others agreed with him. Despite everything, however, they needed to stop Longbottom.

"Let. Me. Go!" the tall Gryffindor was yelling, glaring murderously at Potter. Terry's eyes bulged out of his head. Longbottom, murderous? Glaring at Potter? It was unheard of! Though completely understandable under the circumstances…

"I'm sorry, Neville," gasped Harry dejectedly. "I know you're right. I know he deserves it." He ignored Malfoy's indignant screech. "But I had to stop you," he picked himself up a little unsteadily, "I really can't let you tear him apart before we're out of this mess."

"So you would let that insane creep murder me if we were out?" shouted Malfoy, and even Terry, who considered himself rather pacific, felt the urge to hit him. Hard.

Potter turned to glare at him: "How the hell did you get into Slytherin, Malfoy?"

The blond choked on his indignation.

"Because your preservation instincts are even worse than mine, and that's saying a lot!"

"How am I supposed to know Longbottom will go off into a murderous rage just because I say the truth out loud?"

"Truth!..." shrieked Hermione in outraged disbelief.

"There's nothing even _resembling_ truth in your contorted view of the world!" bellowed Potter.

"It's his reaction that's contorted!... Sheer insanity… probably inherited or something…"

Neville roared and flung himself at Malfoy again and this time, managed to punch the idiot straight in the guts - and nobody even dreamed of stopping him.

"Don't talk of what you don't understand," he hissed rancorously as the Slytherin doubled in pain.

He said nothing else, merely stalked off into the corridor, as far as the die roll allowed him. Terry saw him punch the barrier again in fierce frustration and then pace back and forth with all the helpless fury of a caged tiger.

Malfoy remained crumpled where he was, panting slowly, while Potter and Hermione kept a baleful eye on him.

It was some time before Terry felt on safer enough ground to ask slowly: "What in the name of Merlin was that all about?"

Potter and Hermione looked away. Longbottom turned sharply and gave him a flat look, then said in clipped tones: "Never mind."

Terry remained perplexed, and with the uncomfortable feeling that he should really not pry.


	20. Twenty

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_It was some time before Terry felt on safer enough ground to ask slowly: "What in the name of Merlin was that all about?"_

_Potter and Hermione looked away. Longbottom turned sharply and gave him a flat look, then said in clipped tones: "Never mind."_

_Terry remained perplexed, and with the uncomfortable feeling that he should really not pry._

* * *

><p>The sound of the dice bouncing on the stone floor seemed harsher than before, the glow of the lit squares colder. Terry, feeling a little cowed by the overemotional scene, simply waited quietly until Potter asked tightly: "Well, are we moving on, then?"<p>

"Yes. I want to find that bastard." The cold resolve in Longbottom's tone was as hard as steel.

Terry shrugged and retrieved the dice, following the others as they retraced their earlier steps.

A dice roll. Another. They were moving back, though slowly, along the by now familiar corridor. The silence was heavy.

At one point, Hermione said tentatively: "You know… There's a chance he'll simply give it back at the end." She hesitated, looking away. "If we win, like."

Longbottom didn't react.

Potter tried encouragingly: "Yeah, probably."

Silence again, like a heavy curtain over the group.

Another roll. Steps resounding oddly in the stillness.

Terry glanced at Malfoy. Sullen, he was fiddling with the necklace and glowering angrily at the floor. Terry firmed his lips, unspeakably angry at the blond's insulting behaviour even if he hadn't been the primary target. He always felt out of the loop when the purebloods went off on one of their 'your great-grandfather insulted my great-uncle once' kind of feuds; but this had felt different – harsher – and even without knowing the whole truth Terry felt that the blond had been completely out of line.

Yet another dice roll, and finally they were back to the corridor turning to their left, to where they hoped to find the stairs.

Potter and Hermione were darting worried glances to their friend.

Terry let his mind wonder. What the hell had happened to Longbottom's parents? It couldn't be just that he was an orphan… Potter was one and he didn't react like that to mentions of them. Was it because it had happened long before? Had Longbottom's parents just died? If the wound was fresh, Terry could understand…

Well, not really. He couldn't even imagine what it would be like to lose his parents.

Didn't want to imagine it.

And what was that about… about _torture?_

Could it be…?

He felt cold dread at the mere thought.

He knew there was a war going on… the entire point of the DA was to get ready to defend themselves… but at the same time… it never seemed quite _real_, not inside the familiar, safe walls of Hogwarts… they talked of being killed… sure… but in an abstract way, so to speak… Terry didn't _really_ put much stock in it…

And _torture_… that wasn't something he could bring himself to talk about… even think about… yet now it lurked at the edges of his mind… if it had happened to Longbottom's parents… they were Aurors, Malfoy had said… were they on a mission, were they tracking down criminals? Or… had they been… had they been caught – tortured – he swallowed convulsively – by Death Eaters?...

Could it happen… could it happen to _him?_ His family? Could it…?

He wanted… no, he needed… to know… to ask Longbottom the truth…

He sighed.

It was really none of his business, no matter what. His sudden panic didn't give him the right to pry, especially after already having been warned off the topic…

He hugged himself and tried to put it all from his mind.

Unfortunately, the only other thing to focus on was the uncomfortable silence weighing on them.

At least he could finally spot a set of stairs descending into darkness, right where they'd guessed they should be. Under the circumstances, though, he couldn't really muster any enthusiasm about it.

Wearily, he led the way to the top of the stairs and threw the dice again.

Two.

Nobody moved for a long instant.

Then Potter sighed and called up his _lumos_ once more, pouring its white light farther than Terry would have thought possible, probing the darkness of the vast hall beneath them until the edges of his spell mingled with the red reverberation of the flames enclosing the Wheels of Death.

The three Gryffindors moved down a few steps while Terry stood a moment longer, transfixed by the spectacle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Malfoy opening his mouth, a sneer on his face. Whatever the blond was about to say, Terry was _quite__ sure_ that none of them wanted to hear it. They'd had about enough of the Slytherin for the time being.

So he rounded on him and whispered furiously: "Shut up!"

Malfoy's face was the picture of disbelieving outrage. After a moment he frowned and was clearly preparing to deliver a scathing retort, but Terry didn't give him the time. Pointing a menacing finger straight to the other's chest, he spoke in an undertone: "Malfoy, if you want _one_ hope of getting out of this place in one piece, I strongly recommend you keep your mouth shut from now on! Do your best to make us forget you even exist, that's my advice!"

Malfoy's gazed angrily at him and opened his mouth once more, but Terry cut him off with an impatient hand motion: "No, I _mean_ it! You've pushed too far this time. If _I_ was Longbottom, I know I'd be seriously considering as viable the option of being stuck here with your rotting carcass!"

He turned smartly away and stalked off, secretly rather proud of himself. That had been nicely graphic.

He quickly caught up with the others and paced himself to their speed. The stairs were large but very steep: they had to be careful while making their way down.

Terry took the time to observe and commit to memory the layout of the hall they were about to cross, mentally already selecting the best paths to negotiate the tricky area.

And it _was_ tricky.

From up here, they could see the various corridors twisting and crossing each other, as if they were watching a three-dimensional map, because the actual ceiling was several meters up from where the stone partitions ended; but he was sure that once they found themselves on the lower floor, they would feel trapped by the labyrinthine walls, with nothing but choking darkness above them.

He noticed that the corridors seemed more regular and more rationally disposed at the outer edges of the hall and grew more and more twisted and rough towards the centre – and what was likely their ultimate goal: the Idol's chamber.

Their outlook changed too, from smooth, precisely cut stone slabs to ever more uneven black rocks. Closest to the frightful Wheels of Death and their constantly erupting flames, not only the walls but the floor, too, was made of rough rock, irregularly patterned: some dark formations loomed forbiddingly over the paths cut by the yellow squares, others rose starkly in the middle of the paths themselves, splitting the squares or forcing them up and down small crevices.

It was as if the closer the builders got to the pool of lava, the less they'd wanted to alter the natural landscape; or more likely, the temple had started off around the natural eruption site, as a way to worship the force of nature, since it was quite common for sacred places to be centered on natural phenomena – such as hot springs, for instance – and then as the civilization that created it grew and became more refined, the building was added to and modified to suit the new, more complex taste… a rather common pattern of growth for temples in the ancient times…

Terry rolled his eyes at himself.

Except, of course, this particular site wasn't a temple at all and had probably been created from scratch by their opponent… so his reasoning had little sense…

Still, the care for details was impressive.

He was right that from the ground floor, the hall was a disorienting maze. His excellent memory paid off, though, and he led his companions quickly and efficiently through the labyrinth.

He kept an eye out for whatever… surprises… might be in store for them; but fortunately enough, they didn't see hide or hair of their opponent for a good while.

A few times he thought he spotted a threatening glint on the rock walls further ahead on their path. He wasn't sure he hadn't just imagined it and wasn't sure what it was either, but he wasn't keen on finding out. After all, if it was _him_ designing a dungeon, he'd made sure to include all sorts of traps! Weapons sunken into the walls, for instance, ready to be unleashed on any incautious adventurer; or lethal sash blades falling from the ceiling; or even spears sticking out of the floor!

Case in point… he eyed suspiciously a smattering of small round outlines on the floor. They didn't notch the smooth surface of the square they were on, but Terry knew better than to think they were _decorations_. His lively imagination provided him with colourful short movies of their hapless bodies pierced by lethal spikes sprung from the very floor… it was sheer luck that they'd stopped one square before, he was sure… dear God, let next throw not be a one!...

Twice they ended on the squares with the intricately etched symbol of the Wheels of Death, but nobody commented on the ominous rumbling that followed, marking, as they had discovered, a turn of the contraptions.

It was probably too much to hope for, however, that they would not run into the white-haired menace at all.

Halfway through the hall, according to Terry's estimation, they suddenly heard the dreaded sound of footsteps approaching their position.

Although Terry's instinct was to hightail it immediately, the vicious look Longbottom sent his way stopped his attempt before he could even formulate the idea. It was obvious that the other boy would not accept any course that led them anywhere but straight at the Dark Guardian.

Unfortunately – or fortunately, for Terry's nerves – they were still subject to the Game's rules and even when they caught sight of their smirking opponent, they could not simply charge at him. Under Longbottom's glare, Terry was very quick with the dice, but it didn't change the results, much to the Gryffindor's frustration… and Terry's relief.

He'd never been so happy to get a row of threes and ones, even if it made them spring a trap at last. Luckily, it was nothing more serious than a rope net, falling suddenly over them and pinning them to the floor with small, heavy weights.

Caught by surprise, Terry let the dice fall noisily to the ground and apparently it counted as a throw, for their foe swiftly ran away, his mocking laugh echoing hauntingly around them. Curiously though, no square lit up around _them_.

"I think this stupid net is forcing us to skip a turn," grumbled Hermione from where she was, rather ineffectively, trying to cut the ropes with a conjured knife. "Damn annoying…"

Longbottom growled a curse.

Terry shrugged. In his opinion, there were worse things than being slightly delayed by an essentially harmless net. He transfigured a blade for himself from his tie, setting to work on the ropes on his side, but didn't hurry.

There were _much_ worse things than being delayed…

…although even he was starting to wonder. When were they going to reach that godforsaken Sword?


	21. Twentyone

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_There were much worse things than being delayed… although even he was starting to wonder. When were they going to reach that godforsaken Sword?_

* * *

><p>"There it is!" cried Hermione at long last, pointing to a huge volcanic rock in a vaguely pyramidal shape, further down the uneven corridor they'd just turned into. Something long and thin was glinting on it, sparkling randomly when the reddish flicker of flames struck it.<p>

"About bloody time!" grumbled Potter.

Terry threw the dice again, relieved when they got the needed five. The air had gotten warmer and warmer as they neared the Wheels of Death and now that they were practically at their feet, it was almost unbearably hot.

The huge contraptions loomed over them menacingly. Up close, they were terrifying. Much, much bigger than they'd looked from afar and in a surprisingly elevated position. Terry wasn't sure how they'd manage to climb on them: the gear teeth were the size of heavy lorries and perfectly smooth, offering no grips even where they touched the surrounding rocky area instead of being separated by a fiery lake.

Flames erupted randomly from the lava pool, making Terry jump in fright every time. Occasionally, lapilli would be thrown from the flames and rain down on them, stinging a little. Smoke spirals raised here and there, lingering in a hot miasma.

The sooner they managed to leave the area, the better!

They hurried to gather around the majestic-looking rock that held their prize. Focused as they were on reaching the Sword, however, they failed to notice that the engraving on this square was different from the usual bas-relief of four connected wheels. When they stepped on it, a gong sound reverberated through the temple, seemingly making the very air around them vibrate.

They exchanged panicked looks.

"What was that?" whispered Hermione, as if unwilling to disturb the following resounding silence.

They shook their head helplessly. Terry's eyes fell to the floor. "The symbol… it's different!" he exclaimed.

"Looks like a key of sorts," remarked Potter.

Unfortunately that didn't give them any more clue about the situation.

Potter sighed: "Well, whatever it was, I'm sure we'll find out…"

"And probably not like it…" added Hermione under her breath.

Potter shrugged. "In the meanwhile…" He gestured to the nearby rock.

The Sword was chained to it by hilt and blade both, sort of dangling diagonally against the porous surface.

A quick flick of Hermione's wand had the locks magically open and the lean weapon fell into Longbottom's waiting hands.

They huddled closer to inspect it.

It was long and shiny, with so many jewels on the hilt it made them blink because of all the little sparks of light it reflected incessantly. Though Terry had to wonder if they were real at all.

Potter held out a hand and Longbottom readily relinquished it. They watched as the green-eyed boy turned it over a couple times and balanced it critically. He made a noise of disappointment. "Well, it certainly isn't much," was his short comment.

"It looks just fine to me," protested Hermione. "It's beautiful! Like a Sword out of a fairy tale. The kind of ancient Sword the real king in exile would pass down in incognito to his roaming descendants, until the Kingdom was threatened and he had to save the day in a glorious epic Battle and reclaim his lost throne, proving his right with his forefathers' Sword!" she exclaimed enthusiastically.

Then she blushed at their stares. "Well, you know what I mean! It's how it always goes in novels and the like." She crossed her arms petulantly. "I've always thought that was really romantic…" she sighed.

Potter nearly chocked: "R-romantic?" He stepped closer to his friend, scrutinizing her intently: "Hermione, are you feeling well?"

She pouted.

"Look," said Potter in a very reasonable tone. "A sword isn't something _romantic_. It's… well, basically, it is a long piece of metal with very sharp edges. That, you know, you use to cut things. Monsters. People, occasionally," he explained in a helpful tone.

They transferred their stares to him.

"Well, it is!" he huffed, crossing his arms defensively. "And there's no need to look at me like that! After all, I'm the only one here who's actually wielded a sword in battle, so I should know what I'm talking about!"

"That's right!" exclaimed Terry in amazement. "I'd forgotten… you used the Sword of Gryffindor to face the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets!" There was a choked, incredulous sound from Malfoy, that went completely ignored. "I heard all about it from the portrait of Headmaster Aragon…" he stopped suddenly when he realized he was sounding like a babbling fangirl.

Potter just shrugged.

"You know…" said Hermione. "I'm pretty sure the Sword of Gryffindor was a magical, gleaming, _beautiful_ sword. I seem to recall you saying that its handle had rubies the size of eggs. And Ginny said it was _glittering_. Just like this one!"

"Yes, but at least it was well-balanced! And sharp! This one is so light that I doubt we could pierce something with it even putting our whole weight behind the hit. And it's practically dull. Look!" he complained, running a finger along its edge. It didn't even draw blood.

Would he be like that after this Tournament was over, Terry wondered in vague amazement? Talking casually of happenings that to most people were the stuff of legend? Reminiscing past adventures with such nonchalance?

Of course, there was the tiny little detail of having to survive the adventure first…

He shook his head and said aloud: "Well, I bow to your superior expertise, but since I don't particularly want to pierce, cut, hit or otherwise maim or kill _anything_ with it, I'm pretty okay with it being mostly for show. Increases the chances that we won't have to do anything more strenuous than _wave_ it, which is perfectly alright with me!"

Potter and Granger chuckled and even Longbottom cracked a small smile. They went on blithely ignoring Malfoy's indistinct mutterings. It seemed to be a working solutions to deal with the blond.

"Come on, let's go!" called Longbottom, gesturing to where they'd come from. "I think there was a ladder to reach the Wheels down that way…"

"Ok," nodded Potter, handing the Sword to Terry, who took it in surprise. Nobody else seemed to expect anything else, though.

"Let's hope it doesn't take long, I'm boiling!" exclaimed Hermione. She was the only one who hadn't taken off the outer robe of the uniform yet: all the boys had already reached the conclusion that their shirt was more than enough in the heat and had shrugged off their sweaters as well.

They retraced their steps with two throws, making the Wheels turn noisily once more, and found that Longbottom was right: there was a metal ladder anchored to a tall rock that would allow them to climb onto the second largest Wheel if the gear was in the right position. Looking up at the top, they could make out the shape of a huge gear tooth, ready to be stepped onto.

"Well," said Potter taking a deep breath, "here goes nothing!"


	22. Twentytwo

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_They retraced their steps with two throws, making the Wheels turn noisily once more, and found that Longbottom was right: there was a metal ladder anchored to a tall rock that would allow them to climb onto the second largest Wheel if the gear was in the right position. Looking up at the top, they could make out the shape of a huge gear tooth, ready to be stepped onto._

_"Well," said Potter taking a deep breath, "here goes nothing!"_

* * *

><p>The Wheels didn't look any better from upon them than they had from below.<p>

They were all interconnected, disposed horizontally to form what Terry imagined was a typical clock gear. The squares of the Game's path were secured on a double set of rails, not dissimilar from train tracks, that crossed each Wheel in perfect arcs.

He was relieved to see that the path from their position to the outline of a door in the stone wall on the other side of the gear was unbroken, albeit long, since it passed on each of the four Wheels.

He was much less relieved to find that the impression of flimsiness he'd gained when he'd looked at the squares from afar was anything but wrong. They looked about as secure a passage as a rope bridge over a chasm, or a slowly crumbling mountain spur!

Terry felt a stomach-twisting dread as he stood rooted on the very top of the ladder, eyes fastened to the lava flowing viscously a measly couple of feet below them. The white die sported four shiny black dots, meaning they had three more squares to go on the big Wheel. He did _not_ want to step on it.

Rivulets of sweat ran down his back: it really was unbearably hot. Next to him, Longbottom took a fortifying breath and stepped forth, looking straight before him, as if he didn't want to be reminded of the sea of fire awaiting their falls. Terry gulped, realizing the others were impatiently waiting for him.

Slowly, carefully, he took an hesitant step on the precarious looking yellow square, flinching as the lava frothed gurglingly below him. He wondered whether suffering from vertigo could be considered normal under the circumstances. A small part of him laughed mockingly at the thought. There was nothing _normal_ about this thrice-damned situation!

He took another step, and another. In an effort to ignore the twisting knot in his stomach, he tried to examine the path he was about to cover. And froze. Oh, no, no, no, no…

He swallowed convulsively and managed to choke out: "Brace yourselves!"

The others blinked, puzzled, and he gestured to where they were standing… atop the engraved symbol of interconnected wheels!

Realization hit them and they moaned. "Just great!"

Terry stepped on the square.

The thundering rumbling was much, much worse this time, coming from all around them. The slowly rotating mechanism shot unsettling vibrations up their very bones, making them stagger and grasp wildly for some kind of support. All the squares trembled and rattled dangerously, only slowly settling again. Shouts were torn from their throats as they fought to retain their balance.

Hermione shrieked as she staggered and faltered, perilously close to the edge of the square. A quill fell from a pocket of her robe and plunged straight into the lava pool, being swallowed by the magma with a soft, horrible _blop._ An outburst of flames flared up, missing the girl by inches.

"Hermione!" yelled Potter, lunging to grab her.

They dithered together for an instant that just about gave Terry a heart attack, but then Potter pulled the girl sharply towards the rest of the group and they fell one atop the other, safely in the middle of the square.

They lay there panting for a long moment.

Fire rose up all around them in almost-continuous bursts, raising the temperature to nearly intolerable levels.

"Good thing we're used to Hogwarts moving staircases!" joked Potter weakly.

Hermione laughed, but there was an edge of hysteria to it.

Terry shook his head, feeling dizzy: "We need to get out of here. The sooner the better!"

He went to throw the dice, but Malfoy stopped him with a sharp cry: "Wait!"

"What now?" growled Longbottom aggressively.

Malfoy scowled, but answered nonetheless: "What happens if the dice roll off the square? It's happened before, they've bounced off walls and stuff!"

Terry paled at the thought of losing them to the fire and being trapped in that inferno. "Oh, God," he moaned. "Good thinking!..."

Potter picked himself up: "Shields?" he suggested.

Hermione approved: "If we stand in a circle, we should be able to contain the dice on all sides and prevent them falling off!"

They did so and cheered at the six they got. That is, until they realized that the recent turn of the Wheels had rearranged the path so that they were completely cut off from the rest of the gears as well as the temple!

They groaned in unison, muttering heartfelt curses, that morphed into alarmed shrieks when unexpectedly, the Wheels moved again!

They grabbed each others' arms to brace themselves and managed to steady one another.

When the trembling was finally over, a path had formed that crossed two of the four Wheels.

"Well, better than nothing, right?" said Potter with barely any hint of sarcasm.

"But what happened? Why did they move again?" asked Hermione in a shrill voice. Terry regarded her with sympathy. She didn't look entirely recovered from her brush with death yet and he really couldn't blame her.

"Obviously, the Dark Guardian must have stepped on an etched square, thus activating the mechanism!" sneered Malfoy.

Hermione moaned: "Just what we needed… now we can't even prepare…"

"We'll just wait a little after we throw the dice, give him the time to move before us," said Potter soothingly. "That way he won't catch us mid-step!"

Terry and Longbottom both nodded fervently, before they all moved on.

They made it all the way to the other end of the second Wheel without the gear turning again, at which point they sighed despondently: unless they wanted to go back to the temple ground, they had no choice but to retrace their footsteps.

Of course, their opponent activated the whole frustrating thing when they were but two squares away from the symbol they had access to… one really had to wonder, was the white-haired menace timing it? Because if he was, and if his goal was to annoy them, he was getting full marks!

They hurried to pass on the third Wheel, wanting to take advantage of the suddenly opened path: who knew how long it would last?

Then they had to waste two turns because of stepping on another symbol and consequently trapping themselves on a four-squares broken path.

By this time they were all tired, frustrated, hot and audibly grumbling. So when the reverberating gong sound thundered all around them once more, it was welcomed with hissed curses and baleful glares.

The only positive point was that they were close enough to the door - that they were almost sure would lead them to the Idol - to see an elaborately carved stone panel acting as a revolving door when the gong was heard.

"So it _was_ a key," muttered Hermione. "And that's what it does: it opens the way to the Inner Temple."

"At least it's nothing worse!" exclaimed Terry. His relief was short lived though. When they reached the door – thankfully without anything else moving around them – nothing happened.

The panel didn't budge.

There wasn't any crack, handle, passage, doorknob, lever… nothing!

They had no way to get in!

"I can't believe this," grumbled Potter. "I - can't - believe - this!"

"But we saw it move," reasoned Hermione. "Logically there has to be a way to open it!"

"There is," said Terry in a desolate tone. "We stepped on it when we took the Sword."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" spat out Malfoy.

"Did you see any other key-like symbols lying around?" asked Terry despondently.

"But you can't mean… it's on the other side of the Wheels!... surely not…" Hermione was almost pleading.

Terry sighed, dejected: "I can think of nothing else!"

"But that's completely ridiculous! We'd never be able to!... Even if we go back, there is no way to make it to here quickly enough…"

Potter was frowning: "I hate to say it, but Malfoy is right…" he grimaced, "there are too many squares between here and there to allow us to cover the distance in one throw, no matter how lucky… no, there has to be another way!"

But Terry shook his head. He'd finally understood what they needed to do…


	23. Twentythree

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_But Terry had finally understood what they needed to do…_

* * *

><p>"We must split up!" he said firmly.<p>

"What?"

"What do you mean?"

"No way!"

"No, listen…" he tried again.

"We can't!"

"The rules say we must stay together!"

"_Listen!_" he shouted over their protests. "It's the only way! We need someone to activate the- the 'gong-key' thingy… while someone _else_ gets in! Otherwise we'll just be stuck going back and forth uselessly!"

"But the rules…"

"No, think on it! We were separated when Potter was taken to the Pit of Bones, weren't we? So clearly it is allowed!"

There was silence, broken only by the gurgling sounds of the lava below them, as the others pondered his proposal.

"I think that as long as we _conclude_ the Game together, we're good," he insisted, a tad desperately.

Finally Hermione nodded: "Sounds logical."

"I agree," confirmed Potter.

"So how do we split up?" asked Longbottom.

"I think you and Potter should go back to activate the key, while the three of us go on," told him Terry, as authoritatively as he could manage.

"And why…" started Malfoy acidly, only to be interrupted by an irritated and derisive Hermione: "Isn't it obvious? It'll be a cold day in hell before Neville will pass on the opportunity of confronting the Dark Guardian!"

"Damn right!" muttered Longbottom ferociously.

"Plus, if they end up in the Pit of Bones again, Potter is the one with the best chance of getting out in one piece," added Terry, glancing apologetically at the dark-haired teen. It was probably cold, but if someone had to face an Acromantula… well, better Potter than him, that was for sure.

Potter shrugged, muttering something along the lines of 'Dream of my life…' but didn't object. Malfoy scowled but kept silent.

They re-cast the shields and Terry threw the dice, getting a four.

And the Wheels turned _yet again_, eliciting a chorus of groans, curses and protests. This was really getting old!

And now they were five steps from the sealed door once more.

Terry took a deep breath in an effort to keep calm, accidentally inhaled some smoke and started coughing.

"R-right!" he managed to gasp. "Nothing for it. We will try and stay as close to the door as possible the whole time, while you two go back, so that we're ready when you activate the 'gong-key'."

"And what if they activate the blasted thing while we aren't close enough? How will they know if it is a good moment or not?" asked Malfoy, snidely, but very sensibly.

Terry bit his lip, uncertain, but Potter had a ready solution: "Sparks," he said shortly, "like in the Forbidden Forest."

Everybody nodded, except Terry, who was rather miffed to see that even Malfoy had caught the reference, while he remained in the dark.

Seeing his confusion, Hermione quickly explained the system Hagrid had taught them and Terry nodded sagely: "Ah, yes. Like in the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, right?"

To his surprise, Potter stiffened instantly, his face going completely blank. An awkward silence ensued, baffling Terry. What had he said wrong?

Hermione coughed lightly and said nervously, in a transparent attempt at moving past the uncomfortable topic: "We'd better make the sparks green or blue instead of red, ehm. They… they should show up better in here that way."

"Yeah, ok," said Longbottom just as tensely.

"Shall we move?" said Potter in clipped tones, not looking at any of them.

Bewildered, Terry nevertheless let the matter drop and followed Hermione and Malfoy, while the other two started off on their own.

They walked quickly… and collided painfully with the Game's barrier after only two squares.

"What…?" squeaked Hermione.

Looking back, they saw that Potter and Longbottom had made it just as far: two squares in the opposite direction.

"Oh, of course!" exclaimed Hermione in exasperation. "We _can_ split up, but the steps the die allows us…"

"…must be distributed equally between the two teams!" finished Terry, who'd worked it out as well. "Wonderful," he commented sarcastically.

Malfoy made a doubtful noise: "Equally? Then what about odd numbers?"

Terry frowned but Hermione shrugged: "Probably just 'somehow' divided then. Like, if they had moved the whole four squares, we'd have been stuck, and so on."

"Makes sense," sighed Terry. Would this bloody Game never end?

After a short discussion, they decided to only move one square per turn, thus letting the other two progress faster; a bit of shouting back and forth later, they had also agreed that blue sparks would be the signal for the three of them being in a good position for the door to be opened, while green sparks would indicate that Potter and Longbottom wanted to stop – to avoid setting the Wheels off for instance – and the other three should complete the remaining steps of that throw.

When the two Gryffindors were out of earshot, Terry took a chance and asked quietly to Hermione: "What did I say wrong? Earlier, when I mentioned the Triwizard…?"

She shook her head sadly: "Don't worry. The Tournament is just a sore spot with Harry, is all. Especially the Third Task."

Puzzled, Terry frowned, not wanting to insist but also not understanding.

Malfoy scoffed: "He isn't still pining over Diggory, is he?"

Terry gasped, suddenly figuring it out.

"For the love of Merlin, it's ridiculous…" started the blond.

"Malfoy, shut up," hissed Hermione, eyes flashing angrily. "If you know what's good for you… shut – up!"

And she ostentatiously turned her back to him.


	24. Twentyfour

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_After a short discussion, Terry, Hermione and Malfoy decided to only move one square per turn, thus letting the other two progress faster..._

* * *

><p>Waiting for someone else to 'do their job' turned out to be harder than Terry could have imagined.<p>

Potter and Longbottom were quick to climb down from the Wheels at the first occasion, to avoid being trapped by their unpredictable turns, and thus disappeared from the remaining three's visual.

As for them, they moved back towards the door at a snail's pace, keeping an eye out for green sparks, but they didn't seem to have anything to do or even talk about to pass the time. Especially since Hermione was clearly annoyed at Malfoy (not that there was anything new there…)

In between throws, they stood around awkwardly, waiting for the Game's barrier to spring up around them.

They all gazed fixedly at one unremarkable spot or moved their eyes fretfully from the unstable floor, to deep into the fire, to up to the darkness of the distant, vaulted ceiling. Never did they look at each other.

From time to time they sighed, or fidgeted.

Malfoy took up tapping a hand on his leg in an maddening incessant rhythm. Terry kept switching his weight from one leg to another. He also found himself fiddling non-stop with the collar of his shirt, loosening it because of the heat, then straightening it nervously, then loosening it again…

It was like being trapped in an elevator with perfect strangers. It had happened to him once – the lift in his block of flats had stopped working unexpectedly one evening when he was seven – but that time his brother and his mother had been with him and she'd narrated children's tales to keep them distracted the whole time, so it had been fun more than anything. If only they had something like that to pass the time now!

Minutes stretched impossibly until they seemed hours. Terry almost considered provoking Malfoy into a spat, just for something to do, but he knew he would come out the worst in the confrontation.

"No news is good news, right?" burst out Hermione at one point. "I mean, if something had happened to them, we would know… right?"

Terry shrugged. They should have agreed on a 'danger' signal, too… On the other hand, it's not like they could have helped in any way… But surely imagining all sorts of horrors was plain stupid…

Twice they found themselves transported far from the door again by a turn of the Wheels, but they were almost beyond caring. Then their luck changed and a third rumbling movement brought them with jerks and jolts right in front of the stone panel.

They perked up, sending blue sparks immediately towards the dark ceiling, and waited.

And waited some more.

Then the Game's barrier sprang up around them as usual. They slumped. The others must not be in position…

They threw the die – grumbling when they got a one – and sent up more blue sparks, staying where they were and praying that the Wheels would not undo all their efforts once again…

And finally – finally! – the stone slab moved, like a very slow revolving door, and they shot through it before something else could delay them.

They were in!

The chamber was small and entirely made of stone. It was also dimly lit and _cold_. After the brightness and heat they'd been swamped with, it made them shiver unpleasantly.

Whispering, Hermione cast warming charms on everybody, even as they struggled to slip their robes back on.

Their eyes however never strayed from the Idol majestically towering over them, huge and exotic and shiny even in the half-light.

Malfoy's vision had been spot on.

The idol was _big_.

And gold.

And rather ugly.

In fact, it reminded Terry a lot of a very fat mandrake. If a mandrake ever grew to 15 feet and was gold instead of muddy greenish. And bald.

"Top right!" hissed Malfoy right in his ear, making Terry jump.

"Oh!... oh, right!..." he murmured back, unconsciously clutching the Sword he was carrying.

He let his eyes roam up to the very top of the fat, bald head and gulped.

Then he forced himself to observe the ugly thing better and realized that there were twelve slit-like holes in his enormous chest, spread more or less like the numbers on a watch. How had he missed them?

They looked the perfect width for the Sword to be inserted in and then slid along them.

"Do you think a Levitation Charm will do the trick?" whispered Hermione practically.

Terry was struck by how odd it was that they were all whispering. As if the huge monstrosity could hear them if they talked too loud! It felt right, though. He certainly didn't feel like yelling at the moment.

Anyway, there was no point in dawdling. He straightened his shoulders and whipped out his wand.

"_Wingardium __leviosa_!" he enunciated in a clear whisper, swishing and flicking.

The sword rose slowly, masterfully directed by his wand – he'd always been rather good at Charms – and slid effortlessly in the top right hole.

There was a noise that, to Terry's shock, remarkably resembled that of a coin dropping in a coffee vending machine and then-

With the speed and force of a projectile shot with a sling, something red was expelled by the mandrake-Idol with a loud _burp_ and tore through the air in a straight line, hitting Malfoy directly in the stomach.

The poor bloke groaned loudly, instinctively clutching the thing and doubling over in pain. Slowly, as the Slytherin regained his wind, the stream of unintelligible mutterings coming from his balled figure morphed into an impressive collection of expletives, piling abuse on their adversary.

"Ah… Malfoy?" asked Hermione hesitantly. She looked torn between being highly amused and completely offended by the whole ordeal.

Terry decided that struggling to keep his face straight really wasn't worth it and collapsed to the floor laughing himself silly.

Malfoy's grumbled insults expanded to include both of them (though they also lost some steam) and eventually the blond stood up and showed off the long-awaited prize: a red lump, roughly the size of an ostrich-egg, looking more like coloured glass than anything precious.

The 'fabled Bloodstone'.

"Let's go find the other idiots," groused Malfoy and stalked off towards… the closed door.


	25. Twentyfive

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_"Let's go find the other idiots," groused Malfoy and stalked off towards… the closed door._

* * *

><p>Fortunately for everybody's nerves (because Terry himself felt close to throwing a hissy fit and he just knew Malfoy's impending tantrum would have been spectacular), the panel swivelled open without any input on their part.<p>

They stepped out with relieved smiles and were instantly hit by a wall of heat that felt almost physical.

"We're going to catch our death with all these sudden changes in temperature!" muttered Hermione complainingly.

Terry however was distracted: squinting in the reddish light, he had spotted Potter and Longbottom casually strolling up to them. There was no sign of any barrier, insubstantial or not: it seemed they were finally free of the need for accursed dice rolls. Thank Goodness!

As the other two Gryffindors came closer, Terry observed them carefully, blinking away some sweat. They looked dishevelled – Potter had a smudge of dirt on his cheek – Longbottom's clothes and hair were in complete disarray – their robes, carelessly slung over their shoulders, were slightly torn in more than one place – and they both sported quite a few bruises and a couple of angry red cuts.

"What happened to you two?" asked Hermione with fond exasperation, her hands on her hips.

"Ah…" said Potter sheepishly. "Nothing much!"

"Harry!" she huffed, narrowing her eyes.

"Sprang a couple traps," explained Longbottom hurriedly, caving before the girl's frown, "but honestly, it was nothing serious!"

"Oh?" asked Terry faintly. He already knew that his definition of 'serious' and Potter's were a world apart, but Longbottom had seemed more sensible so far!

"It was just a few darts shooting out of a wall, Hermione," entreated Potter. "No big deal!"

"Harry's pretty fast, you know. Dodged almost all of them!" added Longbottom reassuringly.

Hermione worried her lower lip: "And you?"

Longbottom shrugged modestly: "Threw myself to the ground, and they passed over me." He smiled: "It's what I always do when Peeves is in one of his 'let's-play-target-with-the-students' moods. Works every time!"

Hermione smiled too, but her worried frown didn't disappear: "And the bruises?" she asked demandingly.

"Ah…" grimaced Longbottom.

Potter sighed: "A lump of rock crumbled over our heads," he admitted. "But honestly, we're fine! It wasn't even a big one and our hasty shield worked just fine…"

Hermione looked like she was gearing up to a rant, but she was derailed by a rope ladder suddenly plunging amidst them.

They blinked at it, then as one looked up to where it was supposedly coming from.

A round skylight had opened in the distant ceiling, letting a hesitant sliver of daylight descend tentatively in the fiery darkness they were in. The ladder was evidently fastened to something on the roof above it.

Terry met Potter's eyes through the rope rungs.

"Want me to go first?" asked the other teen with a crooked smile.

Terry sighed and his eyes fell to the dice he still held in his hands. With a mischievous grin, he let the black one drop but held out the other one at arm's length like a footballer would the ball, and when he let it go, he timely kicked it with all his strength.

The dice shot away with forceful speed and hit the wall of the Inner Temple with a very satisfying _thump_, ricocheting off and plunging into the lava pool with an even more satisfying _plop. _

It sank slowly and Terry felt a lazy smile spread on his face. "Ha!" he exclaimed with feeling. He turned just in time to catch Hermione and Malfoy look at him as if he was out of his mind and the other two fighting laughter.

He shrugged, and reached out to grab a rung.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Short, I know, but I don't have much time today, so meeting Ryou is postponed. Sorry! Luna_


	26. Twentysix

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_A round skylight had opened in the distant ceiling, letting a hesitant sliver of daylight descend tentatively in the fiery darkness they were in. The ladder was evidently fastened to something on the roof above it._

_Terry shrugged, and reached out to grab a rung._

* * *

><p>They emerged atop what Terry immediately dubbed an Aztec Temple top, though it wasn't entirely accurate. Still, it was pretty close to what he'd always imagined those infamous sites for human sacrifices would be like.<p>

Looking about while he waited for the others to climb out, he could see that the completely flat top was made of stone slabs with elaborately but roughly carved mask-like figures, vaguely squared and squat and with too many limbs. The building they were on towered over the rainforest they'd crossed, rising tall and imposing like an ugly pyramid from a sea of green. There was a very long set of monumental stairs up the side opposite where they'd entered the structure at ground level.

Terry thought idly that it was breathtaking.

When they were all out, a polite cough made them twirl around sharply.

Their opponent was there, exuding danger and casual elegance, welcoming them with a small smirk. The handsome man looked perfectly at ease and as part of the ambience here as he had under the gory skulls-arc down below.

That was as much as Terry saw before a blur shot past him and straight at the man: Longbottom, who didn't waste any time in punching his target with all his strength.

"Ouch!" yelled the white-haired bloke, rocking back with the force of the blow. He held a hand protectively over his right eye. "What the hell!"

Gritting his teeth, Longbottom lunged at him again, grabbing him by his leather notch lapels. Terry was struck by the fact that Longbottom was a full head taller than his opponent: the white-haired man's presence made him look more imposing than he actually was.

"Give it back, you bloody good-for-nothing maggot!" shouted Longbottom, who looked ready to strangle the thief. He shook the man furiously: "GIVE-IT-BACK!"

"Alright! Alright!" cried out the other. "Chill out, now, there's a good lad…"

Probably noticing the murderous glint in Longbottom's eyes, he was quick to produce the trinket – for all appearances from nowhere – and swiftly handed it over.

Longbottom snatched it and dumped the man on the floor, then took a few hurried steps back, all the while glaring at the bloke, who was touching carefully the tender skin around his eye. He was going to have quite the shiner.

The adventured blew out a huffed breath, lying back for a moment and seemingly looking at nothing, then rolled onto his side and leaned up on an elbow, regarding Longbottom with amused bafflement.

"What's so special about it, anyway? It's not particularly valuable, or magical, or I don't know what. In fact, it looked pretty ordinary to me."

"There's nothing ordinary about it!" spat Longbottom, incensed.

"Fine, fine," the other said placatingly. "I apologise if I have offended you." He smiled and Terry was surprised to see that it was frank and likeable. "I meant no harm, you know. I really had no idea it was so important to you."

"There are times when you hurt people all the more because you just don't think you might be doing it," told him Longbottom stiffly. "And I can't believe you stole something if you didn't even want it!"

The other shrugged, then stretched out lazily like a big wild cat. "Like I said, I meant no harm."

"Well, you hurt Nev anyway," pointed out Potter, quite calmly given the circumstances.

The adventured shrugged again: "And for that I'm sorry, though I'm still in the dark as to why such a useless little trinket would be valuable…"

"Even a useless trinket can carry memories and feelings, making its loss an actual ache" groused Longbottom, clearly not appeased even if the locket was safely around his neck again, being reverently stroked with a finger in an unconscious gesture. "And I don't care how little you think of my grief or if you want to mock me for it, I'm used to it. But trust me, if you'd really taken away the one thing I have left of my parents that they actually gave _me_…"

There was a threat in the low, grumbling tone of the Gryffindor teen, but it wasn't that what made their strange opponent grow serious. His eyes became gentler with every word of Longbottom's.

Finally he replied quietly: "I know what it means to lose someone you hold dear. I would never make light of such a sorrow."

"Now why don't I believe you?" growled Longbottom, more snidely than Terry had ever heard the other boy being.

The white-haired man shook his head gently. "My sister, my beautiful, sweet, beloved sister, died in a car accident when she was just eight. Her name was Amane…" he trailed off, looking sadly into the distance.

Then he turned to Longbottom again, sitting up calmly. "For a long time, it hurt so much to have lost her that I couldn't bring myself to even admit she was really gone. I wrote to her regularly… letters to Heaven." He smiled sorrowfully. "I would tell her what was going on in my life, about my friends and the games I played… and every letter I wrote hurt a little, like small piercing stabs straight in my heart…"

He paused again, then continued in a subdued tone: "My mother died when Amane was born and my father… well, he was a very busy man… an archaeologist, you know, forever on one expedition or another, and when he was home, he worked for his museum most of the time… so when I lost my beloved sister… it was like being left alone in the world…" He shook his head sadly. "Oh, yes. I know what it means to lose a loved one. And perhaps I deserved this after all," he concluded touching lightly his rapidly blackening eye.

For a long moment, nothing moved.

Then the white-haired man shook himself and jumped to his feet: "But of course, this was all a long time ago, before I met Yugi and the others, and way before I joined the Court…"

"Court?" asked Malfoy, his interest peaked. "Yugi – as in Yugi the King of Shadow Games? Are you part of his court then? Can you send us home?"

Terry rolled his eyes. That was so naïve.

The adventurer didn't show to have even heard the blond and just went on: "…hell, it was even before I received… It!"

He reached under his leather trench coat to drag out and dangle before their eyes a cord on which was fastened a weird silver ring with five hanging prongs, encasing an Egyptian pyramid with the Eye of Wadjet engraved.

"Let me guess," said Malfoy, "another Millennium Item."

"The Millennium Ring, yes." The man chuckled: "Well, a replica actually, the original Items are beyond reach now – thank the Gods for that – but good guess nonetheless. I imagine Ishizu already explained how we used what little of the power of the Shadows we retain to make these replicas? Good." He smiled at their nods. "The leftover power, so to speak, will allow you to use this Ring to play hot-warm-cold."

"Excuse me?" asked Terry, bewildered.

"Mmm," nodded the other. "The original Ring, you see, could be used like a sort of compass that would point to whatever you set it to point. This one, too, can be set to find something, but it won't point to it, merely glow brighter the closer you get. All clear?"

They nodded.

"Excellent!" the white-haired adventurer exclaimed cheerfully. "Then here you go, it's yours!" And he took it off his neck to pass it to Terry.

Even if he had half hoped for this, Terry found he was too surprised and overwhelmed to say much at the gift.

He reverently took it and turned it over and over in his hands, letting his finger run all over it as if he was blind and trying to see it through touch.

It was gaudy and tacky and big and exotic and absolutely fantastic.

"Very well, now, what else should I tell you…?" wondered the stranger aloud.

"Your accent!" exclaimed Hermione out of the blue, looking like someone who has found the answer to a complicated geometry problem.

Terry raised his head from his new acquisition at her outburst.

"I beg your pardon?" asked the man politely.

The girl blushed and stammered: "Uh, ah, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to be rude… it's just… there was something that struck me as odd when you were talking, and I couldn't figure out what it was, and then I realized, it's your accent, I mean, the other lady, Ishizu, sounded so foreign, while you… you sound very British!"

The man laughed charmingly and she blushed even more.

"I _am_ British, my dear!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, flustered. "Oh, I see!"

He laughed some more, gently: "My name is Ryou Bakura, and I was born and raised in Birmingham. Moved to Japan in my teens – in fact, that's when and where I met Yugi and his friends for the first time."

"Oh, ehm, well, p-pleased to m-meet you, Mr. B-bakura!"

Terry, busy gaping at the normally self-assured girl _stammering_, almost missed Potter's moan of 'Not another Lockhart, please!'

The man seemed unfazed though and laughed kindly: "Oh, just call me Ryou, please. I prefer it, to be honest."

"How did a British come to have an Ancient Egyptian artefact?" asked Potter, surprisingly sounding slightly hostile.

"He said his father was an archaeologist," blurted out Terry in a defensive tone, before he realized he should probably let the man answer for himself (and why was he defending him anyway?)

"Another good guess!" praised Ryou. "My dad purchased it from a street peddler while on a trip in Egypt."

"A street peddler?" repeated Malfoy in complete disbelief.

Once again he was ignored. Ryou clapped his hands together with a sudden burst of energy: "Now, let's see… the buffet over there is at your disposal." He gestured grandly, leading them to the side, to a table full of trays of various foods and pitchers of colourful fruit-juice that Terry could have sworn wasn't there earlier.

"There are even some cream puffs, look! I love cream puffs." He snatched one off a tray and popped it into his mouth happily. "I'm afraid I must go, but there's no need for you to hurry. No one's going to bother you up here… take some rest! Hum, what else…?"

He made a show of thinking it over. "Nope, nothing! Whenever you feel like going on, I'm sure you'll find the way without problem!"

He moved past them, patting Longbottom on the shoulder companionably: "Sorry again about the whole 'stealing your locket' thing." He smiled dreamily, eyes apparently watching something no-one else could see, lost in the sands of time. "I couldn't resist, I'm afraid. In honor of a very old acquaintance…"

His fond tone prompted Hermione to ask kindly: "Someone you loved?"

Ryou blinked, bewildered, then his smile became shark-like. "No. Someone I _hated__ with__ all__ my __guts_. And whose soul I really, really hope is rotting in hell… _slowly__ and __painfully_."

They stared, completely flabbergasted.

He just laughed and before they could react, he jumped on the stone sill and then _off_ it.

They ran to the sill with shouts – Hermione was the fastest – to watch him freefall towards the forest below them, his trench coat spreading around him like black wings, powerfully and gracefully, and just in the nick of time they saw him grab a liana and swing himself on a branch, from where he disappeared into his forest.

Potter sighed on Terry's left and turning, he saw a look of longing on the Gryffindor's face. "That looks like it would be fun!" was the green-eyed fool's heartfelt comment.

Terry shook his head, gaping. Bloody daft, both of them.

* * *

><p><em>AN:__ And Part Three is complete! At long last, one might say. Now what's awaiting our heroes? Or maybe the question is, who?  
>Luna<em>


	27. Twentyseven

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_Ryou just laughed and before they could react, he jumped on the stone sill and then off it, freefalling towards the forest below them, his trench coat spreading around him like black wings, powerfully and gracefully, and just in the nick of time they saw him grab a liana and swing himself on a branch, from where he disappeared into his forest._

* * *

><p>They took their time, enjoying the unexpected feast and chatting idly around mouthfuls. With Ryou's promise that nothing would 'bother' them, they felt free to relax for the first time since the whole ordeal began and they took advantage of the chance shamelessly. After all, who knew what was in store for them in the rest of the Tournament?<p>

Potter was going on about wanting to try Ryou's grand exit, merely – Terry suspected – to rile Hermione up.

"But it would be so much _fun!_" he'd say with a teasing grin. "Imagine, the total freedom of flying without a broom…!"

"And crash to your death!" she'd retort a little shrilly. "Really, Harry, of all the irresponsible…"

Terry listened with half an ear, amused, until their banter got a little more heated and Hermione let it slip that 'a freefall is the height of foolishness, no matter how cool and sexy is the idiot who's doing it!'

At which point he met Malfoy's horrified eyes across the table and burst out laughing. Potter, naturally, had switched to teasing his furiously blushing best friend; and for some reason Lockhart came up again, though Hermione swatted him for it.

Terry left them to it and located himself a glass.

A little while later he was accosted by Longbottom, who joined him in examining some strange morsels that seemed to include crabs, chilli and mint leaves.

"Any guesses on what they are?" asked the Gryffindor lightly.

Terry glanced sideways at him. He seemed much more at ease and back to his usual calm demeanour.

"Not really, but I'm pretty sure there's chilli in them, so perhaps I should just let them be."

Longbottom nodded seriously, pretending to ponder the topic. "I'll stick to these mango-chicken rolls, then."

Terry grimaced: "Urgh, mango."

The other boy laughed.

Terry bit his lip and then took a chance: "Say, Longbottom…"

"Oh, just call me Neville, will you?"

Terry smiled: "Alright, Neville." Then he hesitated, not sure how to approach the topic he wanted to mention but knew he probably shouldn't.

"What were you saying, Terry?" asked Long- _Neville_ lightly, pouring himself a glass of pinkish juice.

Terry took a deep breath and plunged: "You don't have to answer or anything, I know it's none of my business, and if you don't want to talk about it I understand, no problem, so don't worry or anything, I-"

"You want to know about my parents," Neville interrupted his rambling with a subdued tone.

Terry stopped his babbling abruptly and looked uncertainly at the Gryffindor, unsure whether he should just apologize and let the matter drop or…

"They aren't dead," said Neville with effort, "but they're as good as." He closed his eyes, hand grasping his glass so tightly Terry expected it to explode any minute.

"I don't…" Neville heaved a deep, pained breath. Then shook his head. "I don't think I can talk about it."

Terry nodded quickly, regretting having asked, but Neville forced out a small, reassuring smile: "Don't worry. It's natural that you want to know… just… just ask Harry, alright?" he was speaking with difficulty. "Tell him I said he can tell. He knows… he knows, and will explain."

Terry made a mental note to do so whenever an occasion might rise.

There was a silence, embarrassed on Terry's part, sad on Neville's, and the sounds of a petty argument between Potter and Malfoy over the sophistication - or lack thereof - of cucumber and salmon canapes drifted to them.

Then Neville seemed to shake himself out of his funk. "So…" he asked, with forced lightness. "Ever tried these? They're samosa, right? Parvati offered some on her birthday last year, they're amazingly good!"

Terry seized the chance of a lighter topic with gratitude: "No, I've never had any… they told me Padma offered some as well but I was in the hospital wing at the time… I've had sushi before though, have you?"

And with that they were back to the much safer, though far less meaningful, food chat, at least until Hermione's wonderings about the iconography of the bas-reliefs around them drew Terry into a more satisfying discussion of pre-Columbian art, of which, to his surprise, Hermione knew little.

Finally, Potter decided it was time to drag them all on, though not before he insisted to pack at least some of the leftover food.

"You never know when you'll have to go without, and trust me on this, starving isn't fun," he said gravely – which made Terry seriously wonder about the boy-hero.

He looked as if he was talking from experience. But when had he possibly suffered starvation? In this day and age?

Terry wracked his brain to sort through all the gossip about Potter's adventures, but he thought none of them could have offered this particular challenge. Unless it was something that hadn't made it to the Hogwarts gossip chain? It was possible, when it came to the Golden Trio, though Terry wouldn't have believed it before finding out about the whole baby dragon business.

Or else… well the only other option was that he'd faced lack of food outside the school… his train of thoughts led him to really reconsider Potter's skinniness and its relation with summer holidays… was it possible that… but no, surely not?

His musings were derailed when Potter called out: "Everybody ready?"

There was a chorus of 'yes' and Terry took out his newly acquired silver Ring. True, the way forward seemed pretty obvious – the imposing staircase led to a clear-cut path in the jungle beneath them – but just for the heck of it, he tried out his magical trinket, fiddling with its prongs and having fun with getting it to glow or dim by walking randomly around the flat top.

Al last Malfoy lost his patience and told him in no equivocal terms just what he thought of idiot children playing with magical toys whose complexity was manifestly beyond their understanding, which rather destroyed Terry's excited mood. Offended, he nevertheless pretended to just shrug the insult off and joined the others in descending the lengthy staircase. The last thing he wanted was for the Slytherin to know he'd affected him.

He managed to count 359 uncomfortably tall steps, interrupted by two landings, which made him agree wholeheartedly with Potter's grumblings of it being too damn long a stair, even if Hermione primly informed them that, compared to the 11,674 steps of the Swiss staircase that figured in the Guinness Book of Records, it was nothing.

Which brought up Malfoy's question about just what this Guinness Book was – and they had the rare and unexpected treat to see Malfoy favourably surprised by something Muggle (though he went right back to sneers and contempt, redoubling his efforts to make them forget his momentary lapse, especially in the face of their unmerciful teasing).

The lively banter made the track through the final part of the rainforest go by quickly and at last they found themselves in front of a thick drape of lianas, disposed not unlike a beaded curtain.

Terry's Ring was glowing brightly.

They parted the vegetation… and were shocked to see an absolutely modern-looking, highly technological corridor – all white surfaces, glass and steel.

They moved falteringly in, trying to readjust to the sudden change (Terry actually double checked that his eyes weren't deceiving him, for he'd spotted what he was almost sure was a circuit camera), but soon their eyes were drawn to five neatly disposed and brightly coloured… guns.


	28. Twentyeight

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_They parted the vegetation… and were shocked to see an absolutely modern-looking, highly technological corridor – all white surfaces, glass and steel._

_Soon their eyes were drawn to five neatly disposed and brightly coloured… guns._

* * *

><p>"Cool!" exclaimed Potter loudly.<p>

He bounded over to examine them more closely.

"What?" exclaimed Hermione scandalized. "They're guns!"

"Exactly!" replied Potter cheerfully.

Terry walked over and picked one up as well. Like the other four, it was shaped like a sci-fi phaser, with a futuristic, aerodynamic design, but it was extremely light and in bright colours such as purple, yellow and red. A toy gun, in a word.

He pointed at an imaginary target in the air to get a feel for the grip, childishly excited.

Potter was right. It was cool!

Hermione, however, didn't seem of the same mind. "How can you say that guns are cool?" she asked, outraged.

"Well, they are!" said Potter, looking surprised. Terry nodded vigorously.

"They're instruments of death!" exclaimed Hermione in horror.

Terry's nodding stopped in mid-gesture. He and Potter shared a look, half of uncertainty, half of exasperation.

"Well, yes, _technically_," answered Potter at last. "But then, so are wands," he tried in a reasonable tone.

"Wands aren't designed for the _sole_ purpose of killing!" Hermione was crossing her arms with righteous indignation.

That gave them pause.

"They're still cool," said Terry stubbornly.

"But what reason do you have to say so?"

Terry pouted. What kind of question was that?

"I don't think 'reason' has anything to do with it, Hermione," said Potter. "They're cool because they are. Like… like motorbikes!"

Terry perked up: Potter had got the point perfectly. "Yeah! Exactly! Like motorbikes!" he exclaimed enthusiastically.

Hermione gave them both a flat look.

Terry frowned in renewed exasperation. Why didn't she get it! That made perfect sense to him!

"Aren't guns usually made of metal though?" Asked Lon-_Neville_ examining one closely. "This looks more like plastic."

"How do you know?" wondered Terry, impressed. "You're pureblood, right? I didn't think you took Muggle Studies!"

"I don't." Neville shook his head sadly. "It is considered an 'easy course': my Gran would never accept it. She does, however, think it important for a wizard to be familiar with the Muggle world, so she's been sending me to a Muggle Summer Camp or other three weeks every July since I started Hogwarts."

"Cool," commented Potter and Terry was surprise to see envy on his face.

"Not really," shrugged Neville. "I always feel terribly out of place there. And I would much rather have more time at home with my plants… the greenhouses are suffering from my absence, Gran is too old to look after them properly…" He sighed mournfully. "It is undeniably useful, though. You wouldn't believe how much I learn every time in just three weeks!"

Malfoy snorted, his whole demeanour screaming disdainful incredulity.

Neville fiddled with the gun in his hands, a small smile on his face: "Last year she found one where the theme was electronic stuff – you know, computers, loudspeakers, microphones, printers… they brought us some to try out - even some completely new prototypes. Not that I had ever seen any before, even the standard stuff, which meant most of the guys there thought I was stupid, but it was amazing."

"I highly doubt that," sniffed Malfoy.

"The boy I roomed with was very keen, turned out his father sells the stuff and he actually brought a laptop computer, called it Zenith, and all these weird little squared things called floppy disks… he was a bit mean about it, but he also liked to show off, so I got to watch and learn how to use it… and I talked him into showing me everything, even if he mostly seemed interested in that videogame of his… I found that a bit stupid, frankly. Blowing up little green things with small beams of light… whatever. I loved the MatLab software, though. With a tool like that, even I could take Arithmancy…"

"I miss technology a lot, too," said Hermione. "Not guns, though," she added as an afterthought.

Malfoy scoffed: "That's ridiculous! Magic is a thousand times better…"

"You will be allowed to express an opinion, Malfoy, when you've had enough _direct_ experience to formulate a sensible one!" snapped Longbottom. "None of us is interested in your father's trite propaganda!"

Terry winced. Longbottom might have forgiven Ryou Bakura, but it seemed the Slytherin wasn't as lucky yet.

"I wish I could go to a Summer Camp," said Potter yearningly. "I've never even touched a computer…"

Terry observed his barely concealed envy and longing and his mind put it in a whole new perspective. Potter's comments on the lack of food earlier… his awful clothes – rags, more like, except for the school uniform… his staying at school as much as possible…

Terry felt uneasy. He knew that there were unprivileged families in England. His mother donated clothes and old items regularly to the charities that took care of the poor in his neighbourhood. But could Potter come from such a background?... It seemed almost absurd… and yet… the signs were there - lack of food, rags for clothes, not being able to afford Summer Camp…

"Well, plastic or metal, I don't care, they're still guns and I refuse to use them!" declared Hermione firmly.

"What?" yelped Terry rounding on her. "What are you on about?"

She stared fiercely back at him: "I won't use a gun!" she reiterated.

"But it's obvious that the next part of this Tournament requires us to use them!" exclaimed Terry.

In the direction they were to take (unless they wanted to go back to the Chessboard room) the corridor was interrupted not very further on by a set of steel double-doors, above which red, three-dimensional, illuminated channel letters read 'Bubble Shooting'.

"I – don't – care," she said clearly.

"They're just toys, Hermione," tried Potter half-heartedly.

"It's the principle of things! Guns are wrong!"

Neville frowned: "Why, though? There are a lot of things you can use to kill or hurt people. Besides, Harry's right, wands can be employed as instruments of death too, yet we all carry one all the time."

"In the end, it's the people who avails themselves of guns who are the problem… guns are just tools," reiterated Terry a bit haughtily. "And these ones in particular are toys, they're not made to be dangerous!"

"They are tools that make killing _too__ easy_. Anything that makes taking a life as simple as pulling a trigger is wrong! And it's doubly wrong that they make toys out of those things! It's like encouraging children to become violent!"

"Don't you think you're exaggerating, Hermione?" asked Potter wearily.

"No, I'm not! I know that the problem is the _people_ and their _choices_ but guns make the wrong choice too easy. They're a mistake and I won't lower myself to use them!" she exclaimed, impassioned.

Terry gestured pointedly to the steel double-door that interrupted the corridor a little. In lieu of a doorknob or handle, it had a digital display that read 0000/1000 in squared, neon-red figures. It didn't take a genius to guess they needed to score that amount of points for the door to open. "So you'd rather be trapped here forever?" he mocked.

"YES!" answered Hermione vehemently, even as Potter muttered resignedly: "Of course she would."

Terry gaped and Potter patted his shoulder sympathetically: "She's not one to back down on what she truly believes in," he explained.

"I won't touch them," she reiterated, crossing her arms even tighter, stubbornly.

"For once, Granger, you're talking as if you were a real witch," commented Malfoy arrogantly. "I, too, will not touch those muggle contraptions!"

Potter scowled: "She is a real witch, you jerk!" and Hermione rolled her eyes: "I'm not objecting to them because they're muggle!"

But the blond haughtily ignored them and whipped out his wand, pointing it to the variously coloured and sized bubble-shaped targets hanging on the walls. Before anyone could react, he started firing off well-aimed _reductos._

"Malfoy, NO!"


	29. Twentynine

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_The blond haughtily ignored them and whipped out his wand, pointing it to the variously coloured and sized bubble-shaped targets hanging on the walls. Before anyone could react, he started firing off well-aimed reductos._

_"Malfoy, NO!"_

* * *

><p>Three other bubble-targets blew up in quick succession, as the blond ignored their shouts.<p>

"Malfoy, STOP!"

"What are you doing!"

"Stop! You can't! Malfoy…!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!" bellowed Potter, taking matters into his own hands.

Malfoy shrieked: "Potter! How _dare _you!"

"You – bloody – idiot!" shouted the dark-haired Gryffindor in anger. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm clearing this ridiculous, low-class task before we're forced to sully ourselves with…"

"Do you want us to be trapped here forever? Is that what you want?"

"Don't be an idiot Potter! Of course I don't!"

"I know you have a brain in that little head of yours, contrary to all appearances, so why on earth don't you _use_ it from time to time?…"

"Watch your mouth Potter! I'm not in the mood to bear your petty insults!"

"Look! You bloody jerk, look!"

Potter grabbed the blond by and arm and yanked him around over his loudly screeched protests.

"LOOK!" he repeated, pointing to the steel doors.

"What?" spat Malfoy, barely sparing them a glance. "And let me go, you oaf, haw dare you touch me…"

"Are you blind?" growled Potter getting in Malfoy's face. The other took a step back, alarmed, and was jerked back by the grip Potter hadn't relinquished on his arm.

"What does the display say?" asked Potter through clenched teeth.

Judging by Malfoy's expression, he might as well have spoken Aramaic; Terry and the others however swivelled to look at the digital display and understood immediately.

It still read 0000/1000.

"Damn!" exclaimed Neville. "Blowing the targets up doesn't give any points!"

"Oh, great going, Malfoy!" spat Terry annoyed.

"What are you talking about?" sneered the blond, looking offended.

Potter hissed: "He is _talking_ about the _fact_ that you were trying to destroy our chances of going on!"

"I was not!" cried the other, aggravated. "It's clear we must hit those bubbles – I'm merely doing it the _proper_, wizarding way instead of submitting to use these… these muggle…" He waved, an expression of distaste on his face: it seemed words were failing him in his disgust.

Potter snarled wordlessly, abruptly releasing him and throwing his arms in the air in exasperation.

"You prejudiced idiot!" groused Terry. "And now we have less possibilities to make points! Way to go, really!"

"You're not making any sense!" cried Malfoy, incensed.

"Am too…" started to retort Terry, thoroughly vexed.

"It's just not worth it, Boot," said Potter disgustedly. "Come on, let's make the most of what we've left."

Fortunately they'd stopped the Slytherin with still plenty of colourful bubbles around them.

Terry, Neville and Potter all gripped one toy gun firmly and looked at each other, taking deep breaths to calm down and focus.

"How do you think this works, exactly?" asked Neville.

Potter shrugged and pointed his cheery yellow gun to a random, blue bubble. "Let's find out, shall we?"

He squeezed the trigger and a lemon yellow beam shot towards it, hitting it squarely. A yellow bubble popped into existence and quivered, glued to the blue one.

Potter lowered his gun, bewildered. "Ah… perhaps not, then?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Terry, looking at his own, red toy gun. "I think I've got it!" he exclaimed and aimed at a red bubble.

The aim was a little off, but when his red beam grazed it, the bubble exploded with a soft pop and a trill was heard from the doors. The display was blinking to 0010/1000.

Potter and he looked at each other and grinned.

"Alright!" exclaimed Potter cheerfully. "Let's shoot some bubbles!"

And they did just that.

Soon coloured beams were streaking through the room and crossing each other and the three of them were laughing and yelling in triumph or dismay, caught up in the game.

Whenever they missed and hit the wrong colour, newly created bubbles were left sticking to the pre-existing ones, making everything more complicated. Worse still, when Terry cleverly decided to pop the original bubble, hoping it would take out all the ones glued to it too, they instead fell to the floor, where they bounced and leapt and rebounded every which way, adding to the general confusion – but also, they had to admit, to the fun.

Terry was chagrined to realize he was responsible for the most misses – so much so that Neville mock-yelled at him: "The green ones are _mine,_Boot! Stick to your own reds!"

Potter on the other hand had an excellent aim (probably all that practice with hexes and curses) and the number of yellow bubbles quickly dwindled to zero, at which point he switched to the purple gun, so that he could continue.

When the score touched 0500/1000, all the bubbles still on the walls started suddenly moving, back and forth along the wall and up and down as well, catching them off guards and exponentially increasing the chances of them hitting each other instead of the targets… fortunately, nothing untoward happened if they did, except that yet another bubble would start bouncing crazily around.

Every 100 points after that the moving bubbles doubled in speed, until the last ones were zooming all around them like rainbow-coloured streaks.

As a consequence, they were forced to jump around and run all over trying to chase them down and they made it an impromptu contest of just who could come up with the most creative insult for the devilish devices that were continuously eluding them.

They shouted and laughed and cheered Neville on when he doggedly pursued a smaller green bubble that kept eluding him and boasted about their hits or bemoaned their misses and generally endeavoured to make as much confusion as the bubbles themselves, despite being only three.

When at last a triumphantly grinning Potter, who'd switched gun again, made the last blue bubble pop with a victorious yell, the three of them were panting and laughing like loons and not even Hermione's severely pursed lips could dampen their fun.

The double doors slid open with barely a sound and they saw the corridor continuing forth, identical, until another set of double-doors. This time the lettering was green instead of red and it said 'Scarab Hoarding'.

With a sigh, Terry put his gun down.

That had been fun!


	30. Thirty

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_The double doors slid open with barely a sound and they saw the corridor continuing forth, identical, until another set of double-doors. This time the lettering was green instead of red and it said 'Scarab Hoarding'._

_With a sigh, Terry put his gun down._

_That had been fun!_

* * *

><p>Terry and Potter, side by side, were the first to cross the double-doors, now wide open.<p>

Before they took two steps, something small and golden flickered in mid-air before them, flying in rapid, random patterns with a soft buzz.

Terry barely had time to blink and already Potter had snatched it out of the air with startling swiftness.

"Is that a Snitch?" asked Malfoy, surprised.

Potter held up the thing he'd been examining closely so that everybody could see it. "If Snitches can be made from Golden Beetles rather than Golden Snidgets… then yes," he said, amused.

It was, indeed, a golden, somewhat round thing the size of a Snitch, but with markings that evoked the head, mandibles, antennae and wing cases of a beetle.

"That's a Scarab!" exclaimed Hermione, who seemed to be getting over her indignation about toy guns, but was still scowling a bit. "They're a kind of amulet – they were very popular in Ancient Egypt."

"They're still popular, they help with focusing for very detailed transfigurations," clarified Malfoy. "Gringotts sells those the Cursebreakers find in the Pyramids all over the world."

"Think I can have that one for my Transfiguration O.W.L.?" joked Neville.

Another soft buzz flittered around them, the stark, neon lights of the corridor glinting off its golden hue.

Both Malfoy and Potter reacted almost automatically, Seeker instincts coming to the fore, and their hands shot out towards the 'Scarab-Snitch'.

Malfoy was closer though and his fingers closed around the metallic insect, while Potter wrapped his own around the Slytherin's.

Malfoy shot his rival a look of gleeful smugness. Potter's eyes narrowed in response. Terry fought the urge to step away from between the two. Was it just him, or the air was suddenly crackling with electicity?

And then another buzzing glint caught their eyes from the left side of the room, and two more near the opposite wall, and Neville, who'd gone to examine the new set of doors, called out: "I think they need to go in here!"

He showed them a circular rim holding what looked like a cross between a basket, or a butterfly net, and a cloth tube, flexibly connected to the score display.

"Throw those Scarab thingies here, I bet they'll give us the points to go on!" said Neville.

Potter and Malfoy let their golden prizes fall in simultaneously and the display tingled to 0010/1000.

"Wonderful," sighed Hermione. "We have to catch 198 more of the things!"

"It shouldn't be a problem, Hermione, Harry's the best Seeker in Hogwarts!" exclaimed Neville happily, then added as an afterthought: "And Malfoy's a Seeker too, come to think of it. You'll see, it won't take long."

Terry glanced to the blond out of the corner of his eyes and was not at all surprised to see him look as if he'd just swallowed a sour lemon, peel and all.

Potter taunted him farther: "Think you're up to it, Malfoy?" he asked in mid-voice. "Or do you prefer to leave the job to a real Seeker?"

Ouch.

Terry took a nervous step back. The look the Slytherin was shooting Potter was scorching enough to set ice on fire. He couldn't understand why Potter just grinned, a delighted spark in his eyes. He couldn't understand how Madam Hooch ever managed not to run away screaming whenever those two faced off on the pitch, either, come to think of it.

But Malfoy's face was stretching into a lazy, studied smile. For an instant, Terry expected a scathing comeback, but instead, the blond turned a fraction and his hand shot out again, closing around another Scarab. Ostentatiously, he brought it to the rim and let it drop with smug nonchalance: "Two to one, Potter. What were you saying, about leaving the task to a real Seeker?" he asked sweetly. "Well… if you insist…"

The green eyes narrowed again.

The challenge was on!

While they were busy glaring at each other, a lot more golden Scarabs appeared, zig-zagging here and there, and more still kept coming, seemingly out of the very walls, as Potter and Malfoy started to grasp for them.

Hermione had quickly transfigured something into a bag where Potter could stuff his catches, only dropping them into the waiting tube once in a while instead of running back and forth with every single one. Feeling that it was vaguely unfair, Terry had done the same for Malfoy, using his trusted school tie (and wondering into how many more things it would be turned before the end of the Tournament, and whether they would be innocuous like this satchel or more hazardous, like the earlier blade).

The Slytherin looked at him with such stunned amazement he felt himself go red, but then snatched the bag and ran into the game.

Neville was keeping count, quickly doing the math to sort out who was bringing how many Scarabs to the doors and shouting it out, while Hermione and Terry cheered them on.

The two rivals seemed rather evenly matched, with Potter always only slightly in the lead.

To Terry's surprise, despite the obvious effort they were having to make – especially when the golden things started flying higher above their head, forcing the two to jump unseemly and wave their arms wildly to grab them – they didn't stop sniping at each other even for one second. He was even more surprised to realize that he could only follow about half of the taunts and gibes they were trading and that there was a lot more hinted at and implied than outright stated.

Could you have 'inside insults', the way you had 'inside jokes'?

Suddenly, the Scarabs doubled in speed and number of sharp, random turns. Sparing a glance to the display, Terry saw that yes, they'd broken the 500 points barrier: the game was turning harder.

The two Seekers were utterly focused on the quick, jerky movements of their targets, blocking out everything else, eyes wide to catch any change of direction that might favor them. As the speed of the Scarabs increased even more, their running and jumping became more hectic until Terry felt dizzy and tired on their behalf. He was sure that if it had been him, his arms would have dropped off from fatigue already!

Then the 1000 points needed were reached: a bell sounded, the Scarabs alit on the walls and all movement stopped.

Malfoy and Potter stood wheezing and panting, the Gryffindor with a huge grin, the Slytherin fighting off a similar one.

"And the final count is…" hollered Neville: "Malfoy: 99; Harry: 101!"

"Ha!" crowed Potter jumpingand grinning even more.

"As always, Potter's the best, but good show on the part of the Slytherin Seeker!" said Neville mock-professionally, imitating Lee Jordan's voice.

Malfoy huffed, crossing his arms, while Potter launched in a victory dance so ridiculous only the Weasley Twins could have invented it. He didn't seem in the least fazed by their laughter.

Malfoy was scowling, but still there was a light in his eyes that said he'd been having great fun. And he was practically _polite_ when he reversed the transfiguration and gave Terry his tie back!

Would wonders never cease?


	31. Thirtyone

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_Malfoy was scowling, but still there was a light in his eyes that said he'd been having great fun. And he was practically polite when he reversed the transfiguration and gave Terry his tie back!_

_Would wonders never cease?_

* * *

><p>Hermione, who'd moved ahead to spy what was awaiting them, moaned.<p>

"I hate this Corridor!" she muttered vehemently.

Terry peered through, over her bushy head of brown hair. The trait of passageway before the next set of doors was considerably longer this time, and considerably… fuller, too: in fact, there was so much cramped in there that Terry felt positively amazed.

A whole lot of tracks and obstacles had apparently been knocked together in a jumble of confusing pathways.

Some were suspended in mid-air, flying bridges or perilously dangling catwalks or even simple ropes hanging from tall poles at different heights, here and there interrupted by platforms of various sizes scattered randomly over the area, with trapdoors, parapets and connecting ladders.

Others were on the ground, so to speak, but cluttered by so many boulders and steep climbs, stacked stones and toppled over trunks that the terrain looked impassable.

Yet more paths were going over ponds filled with various algae and water flowers, or through what looked like patches of marshes.

All of the paths crisscrossed each other in an inextricable tangle.

"An obstacle course!" cried Potter cheerfully.

"Oh, joy," deadpanned Neville. Then he sighed: "At least there aren't any hinkypunks this time. I hope," he added with a bit of dread.

Terry grimaced, reminded of their third year's Defence exam. That had been the first – and last! – time he'd scored barely acceptably on an end-of-term exam. Damn grindylows!

"And how are we supposed to pass this… course, do you think?" asked Malfoy.

They looked at each other and shrugged.

"The usual way, I suppose," muttered Neville. "You know… walking? And crawling… and jumping… and creeping on our bellies and leaping over stuff and trying not to plunge to our deaths and so on?"

"No bleeding way!" blurted out Malfoy. "I've had enough of mud and sweat and generally looking as if I'd endured a messy Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures period _together_!"

Terry and Neville tried in vain to stifle their chuckles.

"Then you could go the aerial way. You know, climb," said Hermione, though she didn't look happy at the prospect.

Malfoy scowled: "If we were meant to climb like monkeys, Grangers, we'd have prehensile tails," he said cattily.

Potter promptly interjected: "Well, if that's what you want, Malfoy…"

Quick as lightning, he pointed his wand at the blond. There was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, and the next second, Malfoy was sporting a long, light colored monkey tail.

Everybody burst out laughing while the Slytherin screeched furiously: "Potter! I'm going to _murder_ you!" and whipped out his wand theatrically.

The idiot Gryffindor dove to take cover behind a nearby boulder, but he was laughing so much that it didn't take long before Malfoy managed to drive him out; Potter was fast and agile, though, and apparently used to evade pursuers: he bolted from one hiding place to the next, guffawing all the time, the blond Slytherin giving chase and screaming insults.

Until Potter lost his footing on a slippery stone by the nearest pond and plunged into the water with a dismayed cry and a splash of impressive magnitude.

Terry and Neville had to hold each other up, they were laughing so hard.

Malfoy looked appeased and with a haughty sniff, turned his attention to reversing the trasfiguration he was victim of.

Potter came out choking and spitting water. He looked like a half-drowned cat, but he was triumphantly holding up… a bunch of algae.

"Look what I got!" he shouted with glee.

Terry and the others stared at him incredulously, their chuckles still tapering off even as they tried to stifle a new burst.

The green-eyed boy blinked, realized what was dangling from his fist and scowled: "Oops…"

He hurriedly stuffed the algae out of sight, setting their laughter off again, then sniffed at their mirth and dove underwater once more. A moment later, he was coming up, this time with a blue coin roughly twice the size of a Galleon clasped in his hand. A glittering '30' was painted on it in silver.

"Fine, go ahead and laugh!" he mock-pouted. "And here I've figured this game out, at great cost to my personal safety… or at least my 'dryness'… ungrateful, the lot of you!…"

They laughed even more.

But Potter was right: now that they knew what to look for, it wasn't too hard to spot several twirling coins like the one he'd fished out of the water along the various paths, most often in hard to reach positions.

"I think that's what we need to collect to open the door!" exclaimed Potter excitedly.

"They're in absolutely absurd places!" screeched Hermione, dismayed. "How are we supposed to collect them?"

Neville answered mock-pompously: "By relying on our agility and daring to brave the extreme challenges set out before us! Onwards, my friends!" Then he bowed to Potter: "After you, if you don't mind!"

They laughed companionably again, and set forth.


	32. Thirtytwo

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em>Acknowledgements:<em> _Many thanks to my cousin 'Mad' Alessio and his parkour team, the Se Fhora Crew, who opened my eyes to a brand new world of wonders over these hols!_

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_They could spot several twirling coins along the various paths, most often in hard to reach positions._

_"I think that's what we need to collect to open the door!" exclaimed Potter excitedly._

_"They're in absolutely absurd places!" screeched Hermione, dismayed. "How are we supposed to collect them?"_

_Neville answered mock-pompously: "By relying on our agility and daring to brave the extreme challenges set out before us! Onwards, my friends!" Then he bowed to Potter: "After you, if you don't mind!"_

_They laughed companionably again, and set forth._

* * *

><p>Once again, Terry found himself cursing the bad shape his body was in and solemnly promising to himself that he <em>would<em> exercise more!

He was trudging through the most intricate and convoluted obstacle course he'd ever seen outside of cartoons and he was not enjoying it. At all.

The closest Terry had ever been to something like this were fitness trails and that really didn't compare. For one, there wasn't even half this many obstructions and barriers and impediments of various nature, in those trails. Hindrances and blockages were mostly for show, not impossible to pass like here!

He idly wondered who was it that had designed it. Possibly a sadistic drill sergeant looking for a way to torture his poor vict- err… trainees. He wondered if magic could help him find a way to make Georges Hébert regret inventing the classic obstacle course method for military training…

He'd first tried 'going the aerial way' – to put it in Hermione's words – because, well, Malfoy was right, the ground was either muddy or watery and he didn't particularly fancy ending up filthy and sopping wet; and then because… to be honest… it looked positively awesome!

In his mind's eye he envisioned himself powerfully leaping from the top of a brick wall only to grab a pole and swing himself around it, gracefully transforming his momentum to fly over a boulder and grasp a handhold on the rock wall he would then swiftly climb…

Sadly, it turned out to not be as easy as Jackie Chan made it look in movies.

He estimated that he'd waded with effort and difficulty through about one third of the trail, nearly plummeting to his death twice, he might add, and scraping his forearms badly, not to mention bruising his legs and ribs all over, before he found himself in an untenable position – namely, dangling like a sack of potatoes from the edge of a wooden platform he was simply unable to haul himself up on – and had to give up.

Moving carefully he clambered on a thankfully near trunk until he managed to reach a coarse climbing rope fastened to a pile of rocks and grasping it tightly, he started sliding down it, wincing at the rope burns he was giving himself. Did the stupid cord have to be so rough? Okay, intellectually he understood it was a matter of abrasion resistance and the rope's durability and safety depended precisely on that, but right now, he wasn't feeling reasonable enough to concede the point.

He let himself drop to the ground, twisting his ankle painfully – luckily he'd learned a spell to ease sprained ankles and it worked beautifully, though it took a few minutes for the pain to fade and his swollen ankle to return to normal.

In the meanwhile, he watched the others fight their way through the various obstacles.

Malfoy somehow contrived to look as elegant and as poised as ever, despite being obviously in difficulty. It was probably the way he moved skilfully from rope to beam, his balance as perfect as a cat's.

Terry noticed, however, that he was progressing very slowly, mainly because he seemed to be evaluating every single step six times before daring to make it. Clearly, he lacked the skill for acrobatic gymnastics and wasn't about to risk his neck. Or his clothes, judging by how fastidiously he was avoiding anything that might stain or tear them.

Hermione had the look of someone who's been given a horrible but unavoidable task and is determined to see it through as quickly as possible and well enough that nobody might get the idea of asking her to start over. She had even managed to collect two blue coins and Terry nearly smacked himself, because he'd quite forgotten they were supposed to.

Neville was patiently trudging through the cloying mud of a swamp-like area and didn't seem particularly worried about getting dirty. He was also methodically picking up all coins that weren't too far or too difficult to reach, while carefully avoiding anything that might be even remotely dangerous. Terry had to admit it was a smart way to go about things, all in all, especially combined with Neville's stubborn patience.

But it was Potter who caught Terry's eyes – and held them.

The Gryffindor moved around obstacles with a speed and efficiency that was beautiful to watch – the way power of any kind is. He was vaulting, rolling, running, climbing and jumping, looking for all the world as if he wasn't even straining himself.

Terry could see however the way he exerted his muscles to the point they were noticeably defined and the sweat running down his exposed skin.

He was going after the hardest coins and tearing through the peculiar environment as if he was born in this confusing jungle of tracks.

Terry's mind brought up the memory of a DA session in which Potter had talked about what Lovegood had jokingly – or maybe not so jokingly, you never really knew with that girl – declared 'The Fine Art of Running Away'…

* * *

><p><em>AN:__ Back again... I should be able to update daily for the next three or four chapters, save RL interferences. Anyway: a very Happy New Year to all!  
>Luna<em>


	33. Thirtythree

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em>Acknowledgements:<em> _Many thanks to my cousin 'Mad' Alessio and his parkour team, the Se Fhora Crew, who opened my eyes to a brand new world of wonders over these hols!_

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_Terry's mind brought up the memory of a DA session in which Potter had talked about what Lovegood had jokingly – or maybe not so jokingly, you never really knew with that girl – declared 'The Fine Art of Running Away'…_

* * *

><p>…It had been just two weeks before Christmas and the Weasley Menaces had decided to 'liven things up a bit', by way of casting underhanded Stinging Hexes on unsuspecting fellow students.<p>

They should have known better than to target Katie Bell of Gryffindor, who apparently had learned how to deal with the two unstoppable red-heads and rounded on them looking remarkably like a fire-breathing dragon.

Her screeched threats of dire retaliation had promptly pushed the two to take off at a run in the face of her wrath, but since they were limited by the Room of Requirement's current size and layout, what had ensued had been a comical hunt-and-flight sort of game.

When one of the Twins had stumbled upon one of the desks they used to practice the _Reducto_ curse and hurtled down on the floor, giving the Gryffindor Chaser a chance to pounce on him and make him collapse helplessly with a strong Perpetual Tickling charm, Potter had stepped in and taken it as his cue to lecture them on how to escape pursuers.

There had been some protests – people muttering that to run away was cowardly – Terry himself had thought something along those lines – sure he was all for running away if in danger, but it felt vaguely offensive that Harry Potter, Golden Hero of the House of Braves, would suggest it!

Potter had quelled them with a look that made them feel stupid: "If you're planning to duel a fully trained Dark Wizard out to kill you, you're either suicidal or simply stupid. What we're learning here is to be used in full-out battle only as a last resort – because it _would_ probably be the last thing we'd do!"

"You did…!" protested someone.

"I had no choice!" Potter had shouted and then he'd repeated in a broken whisper: "I had no choice…"

He'd swept the room with his glare: "When you're faced with stronger, faster, more powerful, more skilled, _better _opponents, running away is not cowardly – it's _sensible!"_

There had been a lot of shuffling and indistinct muttering. What Potter was saying sounded so utterly logical, and yet – well, it felt – Terry didn't know – _disloyal_ somehow.

"We're all here in the D.A.," had said Neville quietly. "Isn't it all supposed to be about fighting You-Know-Who and his followers? You can't tell us that the first chance we'll have to do something real we'll have to hightail it - or is this all just a game or something?"

Terry had felt relieved that someone seemed able to put his misgivings into words.

Potter had regarded them all coldly and answered with more calm and precision than Terry had expected from him: "You're misunderstanding me. What I'm saying isn't that we shouldn't fight if the chance arises, or if the reason is important enough. I'm saying that we must never forget our priorities."

His jaw had firmed at their perplexed stares.

"One, we're to stay alive. Two, we're to keep our friends and families alive!" Potter had looked almost angry as he barked this out. "If Cedric and I had fled…"

His voice had broken again.

Then he'd visibly steeled himself and elaborated: "We're no use to anyone dead. That means that if the odds are against us – and right now _they are_, no matter how much you feel you've learned – fleeing to fight the next battle is the best option unless the gain is so great it justifies our probable death. And I mean the 'stopping Voldemort" - he'd ignored the numerous flinches – "from getting his hands on the means for immortality' kind of great gain. If you throw away your life in a minor skirmish for the only reason that you don't want to look like cowards, who will be there to fight when it truly counts? When the time will come when every single wand will make the difference? Who will protect what's truly important? Help when the need is greater?"

He'd turned to look straight at Neville: "Some of us have a lot of reason to want to hurt Voldemort" – again he'd ignored the cringes - "and his Death Eaters. Most of us will probably get their chance, and sooner rather than later. But as for what the D.A. is all about… revenge, yes, defiance against the Ministry of Morons, sure… don't think I don't feel the same…"

He'd taken a steadying breath.

"…but mainly the D.A. is _supposed_ to get us ready to protect ourselves and our families. That's the most important thing of all. Death – yours, mine – is okay only if it ensures the ones you love are safe. No matter how heroically you think you're acting, if when you die you and abandon them to pain and death, that's not brave: it's meaningless."

He'd bowed his head and missed the faint reddening of more than one pair of cheeks at his rebuke.

Terry had never felt more uncomfortable – as if suddenly all the – well, the fun – they were having in the D.A. had been cast into a grey and bleak scenario where it was taking on a different form entirely – a much scarier and more sombre shape…

A feeble protest had come from Thomas and Brown of Gryffindor: "But you do all those cool things…!"

"It's only cool when someone's telling the tale afterwards," had retorted Potter acidly.

Then he'd straightened and gone on in a matter-of-fact tone: "There is a reason why the instinctual response to an opponent is called 'fight or _flight'_. And after what I saw today, I really think we should start training for the flight response, as well as the fight!"

"What do you mean?" had asked Padma frowning. "If you run away, you run away, and that's that!"

"Oh, is it?" had asked Potter. "And here I thought the point was to actually _get _away."

They'd stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"Learning to run away means learning not to run into or stumble over obstacles and the like. To find quickly the most direct path through an area, and find hiding spots, and be able to change direction at a moment's notice if something – or someone – pops up… basically, it's about finding good paths – regular first, then alternate, more efficient ones. And sharpen your reflexes, let's not forget that."

Many had been nodding by this point, including the Weasley Twins, who'd offered several examples from their own experience escaping Filch.

Hermione had started off on one of her sagely-worded rants about developing the necessary level of spatial awareness and understanding how an obstacle is like a challenge and the ability to overcome the challenge depends on multiple factors, for example, on body type, speed, angle of approach, the physical make-up of the obstacle.

Potter had interrupted her fairly soon: "The point is that everything around you – walls, trash cans, stuff lying around or hanging – they're hindrances that can slow you down and get in the way, but if you know how to take them on, they're advantages."

"How?" had asked Padma's twin – Terry thought her name was Parvati - rather dubiously.

Potter had thought a moment, searching for the right words: "What makes an obstacle useful rather than a nuisance is that if you can pass it, and your pursuers cannot, you have a huge advantage. Which is likely to be the case, since Death Eaters are hindered by their bulky robes and unlike us, they probably won't be so smart as to shed them if needed."

"And if we don't want to lose our clothes?" had asked Marietta Edgecombe, making Terry roll his eyes at her idiocy. He'd never liked the older Raven.

"You have to recognize the difference between what is useful and what is not in emergency situations! If you value your clothes more than your life and freedom…"

Potter hadn't needed to complete the sentence. The silly girl had blushed and mumbled some sort of apology.

And so their - brief - foray into The Fine Art of Running Away had started…


	34. Thirtyfour

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em>Acknowledgements:<em> _Many thanks to my cousin 'Mad' Alessio and his parkour team, the Se Fhora Crew, who opened my eyes to a brand new world of wonders over these hols!_

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_And so their - brief - foray into The Fine Art of Running Away had started…_

* * *

><p>…They'd cleared an area and scattered it with transfigured steps of various height and then they'd set to leap over them all as quickly as possible.<p>

Again and again and again, one after the other in a path around the room.

There had been a lot of muttered grumbling – Terry had been on the verge of becoming quite vocal – because it had been rather boring, not to mention tiring.

The Weasley Twins had tried to liven things up by hopping over the steps with some weird acrobatic jumps and attempting twists that ended up looking like uncoordinated shambling in mid-air.

Potter had scolded them, annoyed: "Stop trying to show off, you're only going to twist an ankle like that. It's not about moving in a flashy way, it's about gaining the most ground – the way you must do when you are running away for real, or chasing something too – but in such a way as to stay safe at all times!"

"It's a matter of efficiency. Economy of movements, right? Otherwise you'll be out of breath too soon," had interjected Hermione, who had indeed been looking rahter winded already.

"Not only that," had replied Potter shaking his head. "Trust me, if the alternative is certain death, you'll find your breath. Maybe collapse for a week afterwards, but in the meanwhile you'll keep running, adrenaline or panic or whatever will keep you going. The problem is that if you're trying to escape, you can't afford to get injured. Because if you get hurt, your running is at an end and the bad guy catches you. And that is Very Bad."

They'd all laughed nervously, but Potter hadn't looked like he found it funny at all.

"So you see, it isn't a matter of 'cool moves' and acrobatics," he'd repeated again and again. "The key point of Defence is not to be the coolest bloke around, because if you die, no matter how cool you looked doing it, you're still _dead_."

It had been a rather depressing way to keep them focused, thought Terry. And the repetition of unfamiliar movements had been hell on his muscles. He really preferred the standard spell practice!

He wasn't the only one, either. When Potter had tried to switch them to practising falling down and had attempted to explain how you can limit the damage you take after a drop if you roll properly and even use the momentum of the fall to give you a push onward, many of the girls had started screeching about 'the sheer idiocy of falling down and getting covered in bruises intentionally'. And Terry had to admit that he'd been thinking along the same lines. Deliberately dropping on the hard floor to bruise some new body part, only to get up and do it again, did not sound like fun.

There had been enough mutinous rumblings that Potter had given up and gone back to Shields the next meeting.

Now Terry wished he hadn't.

He watched the Gryffindor walk along the crest of an obstacle like on a balance beam, then swing through a gap between two obstacles and finally land, bending the knees when his toes made contact with the ground.

Compared to his own lumbering motions, it made such a stark contrast that he truly regretted scoffing at that sort of 'training'.

He shook his head. Potter was often an oblivious moron, despite his leadership skills and charisma, but there were times when he made everybody else feel like clumsy little fools.

Terry still wondered where he'd learned all that, even if he'd overheard some sort of answer from Ron Weasley's joking comment: "Don't look so glum, mate, it was a good idea to teach us this stuff. It's… what was it Hemione said?… 'critical thinking skills that allow one to overcome everyday physical and mental obstacles'. In other words, cool stuff, even if it doesn't look like it. Learned from experience, was it?"

"Yeah…" had answered Potter faintly. "I suppose I should almost be grateful to for the Harry Hunting game… lots of practice and all that…"

"Suuure," had smirked Weasley, "I recommend a thank you gift for the bastards. A box of the Twins' sweets, ya think?"

Terry had been rather confused. He could easily guess they were talking of Death Eaters pursuing Potter, given the boy's story it was a straightforward deduction, but was Weasley really suggesting pranking insane dark wizards? Or was it just the Lions' way of coping with a frigthening perspective?

It didn't really matter, but Terry's mind found it hard to cope with incongruity. Maybe he'd ask Potter if he got the chance.

He observed some more as the dark-haired boy used an almost instinctual fast redistribution of his body weight to perform manoeuvres Terry would have judged difficult if not outright impossible and used his momentum to keep going at great speed with little apparent effort.

Ravenclaw to the core, he'd devoured his muggle cousins' books on physics during the holidays, just because, and now he could easily recognize the principle of absorption and redistribution of energy as the factor that allowed Potter to jump from greater heights than should be considered sensible and reduce the impact forces on the legs and spine when landing in a roll.

Too bad understanding the principle would never translate in automatically being able to perform the same feats!

Now the Gryffindor was watching with narrowed, contemplative eyes a sparkling blue coin atop a tall structure.

He carefully estimated the distances involved before starting off at a run, until he was close enough to step off the wall, transforming forward momentum into upward momentum, then using the arms to climb onto and over the object. When he'd secured the coin, he ran his gaze around, evaluating the best next move, and finally leaped off, landing on the side of a nearby platform in a sort of hanging position, the hands gripping the top edge, holding the body ready until he managed to muscle-up into a position where his upper body was above the obstacle, supported by the arms.

Terry shook his head in admiration and envy and returned his attention to his own path.


	35. Thirtyfive

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_Terry shook his head in admiration and envy for Potter's powerful grace, and returned his attention to his own path._

* * *

><p>Tired, bruised and on the verge of being seriously annoyed, Terry eventually balanced carefully over the last overturned beam, laid like a bridge of sorts over a small pond, and let out a relieved breath when he stepped off it and onto the firm floor before the set of double doors.<p>

Thank Merlin he was out of the damn area!

Hermione was already resting nearby and she offered him a weak grin which he made an effort to return.

He let the meagre three coins he'd managed to collect – forty points in all, shameful – drop into the waiting box and couldn't bring himself to smile at the score tingling to 0070/1000.

He let himself drop on the floor next to the Gryffindor girl and sprawled, unspeakably grateful to Potter for insisting they bring hip flasks with them. He couldn't remember ever being so thirsty before in his life!

It was some long moments before he'd recovered enough breath to sit up. Hermione had closed her eyes next to him, quietly resting.

He watched Potter vault over the last boulder and easily balance on the last overturned trunk, jumping down right before them. He was grinning hugely: "Well, that was fun!"

Yeah, right.

Potter dumped his coins in the door's collector and a seemingly everlasting tinning jingle resounded, to mark the unbelievable amount of points cascading into the lock.

Terry's eyes nearly bulged out when he saw a 200-points coin. He almost didn't want to know how hard it must have been to get it. In the end, they only needed 60 more points!

Potter gulped down his water and then flopped down on the floor, smiling at Hermione who was picking herself up.

Glancing back to the tracks, Terry spotted Malfoy blocked at a crossroads of sorts. He was peering cautiously at his options, reminding Terry of a skittish cat faced with the necessity of treading water.

That was going to take a while.

He turned to Potter, frowning thoughtfully. Maybe this was the chance to ask about Death Eaters hunting him and the weird idea of pranking them with sweets.

He didn't manage to say more than "Hey, Potter…" however, because Neville chose exactly that moment to trudge up to them, dripping mud all over the place.

He looked like the proverbial Swamp Monster.

"…Hermione?" he asked with a cute little whine. "You wouldn't know a cleaning spell, by chance?" He tried his hardest to look as pathetic as a lost puppy and she rolled her eyes, fighting a smile even as she jumped to her feet to help him.

By the time the commotion was over Malfoy had managed to get over his indecision and had almost caught up with them.

He looked as pristine as when he'd set off, though a lot more irritated. He shot them a dark look, however, when they asked him about his coins: apparently he hadn't bothered collecting any.

Selfish git…

Luckily Neville had picked up quite a number of 5- and 10-points coins and his contribution quickly got the lock counter up to 0995/1000.

Then Potter turned over his pockets and frisked and rummaged until he finally produced one more 10-points coin.

The lock trilled to 1000/1000 and froze; with barely a sound, the double doors slid open.

Peering in a little wearily, unsure what more to expect from this tiring Corridor, they stopped short in front of a perplexing view.

The portion of Corridor before the next set of doors was square and not very big and the floor only consisted in a footbridge running around along the walls.

The centre was occupied by a big… pool? A pool full of variously coloured balls!

Amber yellow, bright cerulean, bottle green, electric indigo, magenta – and that was about as far as Terry could go with his memory of his Aunt Frances' watercolour box.

"What are we supposed to do?" asked Neville a bit perplexed. "There doesn't seem to be a logical way to collect points here."

"No…" replied Hermione a little absently. "I don't think… Harry, can you see the lock clearly? It doesn't have a score display, does it?"

Terry kept his eyes peeled on the double-doors opposite them, like Potter was doing, and had to agree. The lock was a simple, empty tray with a round impression, just the size of the balls in the pool, Terry guessed.

He almost groaned at the growing suspicion his mind was providing him with. Then Potter put it into words: "Looks like we must find the right ball to put there," he sighed.

"We might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack!" griped Malfoy.

"Well, at least we know how to go about this," exclaimed Hermione determinedly and ran lightly along the footbridge until she reached the door, bending to examine the tray closely.

She called back: "It's all made of brass!"

Potter kneeled on the edge of the pool and stuck his hand down into the balls, rummaging aimlessly: "These feel like plastic!" he yelled at her.

Terry heard a perplexed muttering from his right side: apparently Malfoy didn't know what 'plastic' could possibly be. Stifling a smile at the pureblood's ignorance, he watched Granger run lightly back: "So we're looking for a brass one? All agreed?"

"I think so," nodded Potter.

Terry shrugged, it was as good a guess as any, and Neville and Malfoy didn't object.

She sighed and said petulantly: "Good. But this task is still a pain!" She wrinkled her nose at the pond. "Should we try and levitate the balls out?" she asked.

"Oh!" said Potter so innocently that Terry took a wary step back. "Actually I thought of a funnier way…"

Hermione frowned, turning at him: "Funnier…? Harry, what are you up to now?"

Instead of answering, the Gryffindor pounced on her with a mischievous grin and in a moment had lifted her in his arms and thrown her right into the thick of coloured balls.

She shrieked through the air and plunged, scattering small balls every which way; she re-emerged sputtering and glaring at her laughing friend.

To Terry's surprise, instead of exploding in a furious rant, she just bellowed dramatically: "You'll pay for that, Potter!" and in the blink of an eye, pelted the grinning boy with a barrage of well-aimed ball-projectiles.

Well, mostly well-aimed. Quite a few bounced off Neville and Terry too, eliciting indignant yelps.

Potter was laughing too hard to retaliate properly, but Terry was prompt to bend and scoop up some balls to throw back. They were extremely light and, indeed, made of the plastic usually chosen for toys.

His aim wasn't as good as Hermione's, but it was enough for her to laughingly call for help from Neville and before he knew it, Terry found himself pushed straight into the pool of balls by the taller Gryffindor.

Shrugging balls off his shoulders, he mock-glared at the smirking boy towering from the footbridge.

"This means war!" he bellowed, doing his best not to laugh and let go another handful of balls towards Neville, only to have to dodge Hermione's fire – which wasn't easy at all, since he was standing on ever-moving balls and kept stumbling and plunging in the ever-shifting filling of the pool.

It didn't matter though: the others weren't faring any better and when Potter and Neville fell into the pool as well, the all-out battle became a confusion of laughter and shrieks and stumbles and falls and throws.

Until Potter choked in the middle of an inspired 'Evil Lord of the Plastic Balls' rant and stared in shock at the round metallic object in his hand: "Ooops… I think I've found it!" he cried waving it so they would see it.

"Aww…" they chorused grinning, not particularly happy that the fun was over. Their chuckles almost covered Malfoy's disgusted: "Thank Morgana!"

Terry sniffed at the spoilsport and fired off a last ball at Neville's head, making the other boy chuckle as he dodged and stumbled yet again, falling laughing in a heap of balls.

Grinning hugely, they hauled themselves up in front of the last set of doors.

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: Thus ends Part Four! I will try my best to keep the updates frequent through Part Five as well.  
>Luna<br>_


	36. Thirtysix

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_Grinning hugely, they hauled themselves up in front of the last set of doors._

* * *

><p>The five of them stood rooted on the doorstep, awed by the suggestive sight offered by the vast room the Corridor had led them to.<p>

The floor was a smooth expanse of water, spread like a glass pane in all directions, which mirrored the surroundings with the barest of flickers.

On it, a vast granite slab, long and rectangular, floated as if by magic, its foundations hidden so perfectly by the water it looked for all appearances suspended on the lake like a still raft.

There was a graceful pier that connected the even quay where they stood to the closest edge of the apparently floating platform, seamlessly morphing into a long processional way once on the slab.

It lead to a stone-built enclosure wall, on the way passing through three tall, insulated gateways, well-spaced – Terry estimated that there might be twenty paces between the first and second gateway – and beautiful in the perfect symmetry of their stone pylons and the delicacy of their projecting cornices.

All was peaceful, not even the slightest breeze stirring the calm harmony of the site.

Terry felt like sitting cross-legged by the water and just let time roll by: the gracefulness of the aesthetical building reflected in the water invited contemplation and meditation and made him feel as if the place was suspended out of time.

It was the most evocative location he had ever seen.

They stepped on the pier quietly and instinctively walked in a line, almost feeling as if they should mimic the processions they had no doubt the place had been imagined for.

They approached the gateways slowly, awed by the high, precise architecture; one after the other, they passed under the tall granite gateways, almost reverentially, taking in the perfectly cut stones and glancing at the beautifully unsettling effect of the reflection on the water surface, as smooth as oil and as clear as a mirror.

The walls seemed to be quite bare: there was none of the bas-reliefs, frescos or hieroglyphics Terry would have expected. There were also no sculptures of any kind.

Everything was well-defined, minimalist, essential: the few colours, the suffuse lightning that reduced shadows to a minimum, the vast space with barely any items, be they decorations or furniture, all seemed designed to achieve efficiency and simplicity.

In front of the enclosure wall that Terry guessed hid the temple proper, there were four isolated columns, just as neat and smooth as the rest of the architecture around them.

Among the columns was set up a working desk: a good-sized glass top articulated in an L shape, a comfortable-looking swivelling chair, a polished metal filing cabinet and a chest of drawers for storage that appeared to fit under the desk top as if they were made for just that purpose. Everything on it was flawlessly organized and even at a glance, Terry could see it was all state-of-the-art, top-line equipment, down to the pencils in a minimalist pen holder.

Above the desk Terry recognized a huge monitor and an assortment of perfectly arranged electronic devices he could not truly identify, but where apparently plugged in the amazing-looking laptop holding pride of place over the entire station, including what looked like a round movie-projector steadily blinking a red laser light in a slow spinning pattern.

On the whole it looked extremely efficient, extremely modern and most of all, extremely out of place in the frame of huge granite architecture; though perhaps not as much as the man sitting behind it, expertly typing on the keyboard…


	37. Thirtyseven

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_On the whole it looked extremely efficient, extremely modern and most of all, extremely out of place in the frame of huge granite architecture; though perhaps not as much as the man sitting behind it, expertly typing on the keyboard…_

* * *

><p>The incongruous apparition was a handsome man with an air of arrogance about him. He had brown smooth hair that fell over his forehead and eyes, obscuring his expression.<p>

He was impeccably dressed in what Terry could have bet were designer clothes; his perfectly tailored slacks and silk shirt could have looked like an ordinary, though expensive, business suit if it wasn't for the unusual length of the white jacket. Clearly he was a man who set himself apart from the masses without bothering to become unconventional.

He looked fully absorbed in his work and didn't deign them of a glance; they remained awkwardly standing in front of his desk, fidgeting but silent. Something told them this was a man used to be feared and respected.

Finally the stranger raised his face, pinning them with two icy sapphire eyes: the expression in them was so deep and inscrutable, so cold and cutting, that Terry shivered, his mind filling with images of ice pinnacles and cutting winds.

He scrutinized them intensely from top to bottom, giving Terry the upsetting feeling that he was dissecting them with his gaze and carefully evaluating every piece for functionality.

Somehow, he had the horrible sensation that they were coming up short.

The man's sneer became more and more pronounced as the piercing blue eyes infallibly spotted and lingered on their dishevelled hair, torn clothes, the spots of mud streaking their outfits and their general sweaty and unkempt appearance.

Terry fought the heat he could feel growing in his cheeks and lowered his head, mortified by the judging sneer of the stranger. He felt Potter fidget uncomfortably at his side and caught him nervously trying to flatten his unmanageable hair.

"You're late," snapped suddenly the man, every syllable dropping with exacting precision. It made unpunctuality seem like a terrible crime. Terry gulped.

Unlike him, both Potter and Malfoy reacted with mulish scowls, their being intimidated vanishing in front of the contemptuous attitude faster than snow in the midday sun.

The Gryffindor spat, irritated: "Late for _what,_ pray tell? I wasn't aware we were on a tight schedule!"

Malfoy's grumbled comment was a lot more insulting and made Terry discreetly roll his eyes at hearing the man declared 'a disgrace to the name of wizard'.

The man's attention snapped to the blond and the Slytherin stilled and paled when he met the livid gaze holding him under scrutiny.

"I beg your pardon?" asked the man dangerously.

Malfoy gulped, but then straightened defiantly and recklessly shrugged, openly throwing his own contempt right back at the man: "I said you're a disgrace to wizardkind! It's obvious you lack proper pride... dressing like _that_" he gestured with his own sneer, "and working like an uncouth plebeian. No true wizard would lower themselves to use such ridiculous things as these Muggle _combutens_!" he sniffed disdainfully.

The four of them sighed or grumbled in exasperation at the blond's all too familiar attitude.

The man however simply pinned him with a freezing stare: "What, pray tell, do you mean by 'wizard'?" he asked acidly.

Terry's eyebrows rose in shock and he shared disbelieving glances with Potter and Neville.

Malfoy stared at the man as if he'd come from Mars on a fluorescent pink broomstick which occasionally brayed and said very slowly, as if he was talking to someone retarded: "A magic user."

The other returned his attention to his laptop with a scoff, utterly dismissing them with a curt: "Magic doesn't exist."

They all stared at him.

He went on working on something or other, fingers flying over the keyboard, producing a pleasant ticking sound, or scrolling the screen and scanning it unbelievably fast.

They stared some more.

He ignored them.

Eventually Potter found some words: "Right. Right. No such thing as magic. Ok." He ignored his companions' choked incredulity and took a deep breath. "So all this…?" he asked leadingly.

The man raised his eyes from the screen long enough to bestow an infuriatingly condescending look upon him. "I realize that any sufficiently advanced technology is undistinguishable from magic, _to the uninformed mind_," he said patronizingly, "but I really expected more from potential successors. Surely you do not need to resort to pointless superstition to justify to yourself the as-yet-unknowns the world presents you with?"

There were varied reactions to this little speech – Hermione bristled openly at being declared _uninformed and superstitious_, Malfoy raged at magic being considered _pointless_, Terry gaped – but as usual it was Potter who cut through the insults slash meaningless minutiae to get straight to the heart of the problem.

"Potential successors? What the hell are you talking about?"

Terry blinked, then winced. Good point – he should have grasped that _tiny_ detail himself!

Unfortunately, the man ignored the green-eyed boy masterfully and went on to say: "As a matter of fact, this _illusion_ is the result of a complex and innovative application of the _scientific_ principle at the base of my company's prize product."

"Your company?" blurted out Hermione.

Unhindered, the man continued in precise, clipped tones: "In short, during a filming of the Templo de Diablos in Spain, the light scattered from the stone architectures was recorded and now it is being reconstructed in a holographic interface so that an eye or camera placed in the area where the reconstructed beams cross and blend will see an image of the object even though the object is no longer present, appearing three-dimensional and, to a superficial glance, real, thanks to the almost-constant changes to the position and orientation of the viewing system."

"Huh?" was Potter's and Neville's brilliant contribution.

Terry worked through the explanation while trying to stop gaping. "How… how are you reproducing it? Holograms are practically sci-fi…"

"My company specializes precisely in the production of holographic interfaces," sneered the man. "There are hologram generators all around us displaying what you see. Perfectly rational explanation – the system is patented if you must know. No hocus-pocus nonsense!" He shot them a smug look.

"Your company?" asked Hermione again, rather faintly. She looked like she expected the answer but wouldn't believe it until she heard it.

"KaibaCorp," the man said shortly, his attention already back to the laptop he was working on.

Terry's mouth fell in shock as Hermione's breath rushed out in a squeak: "No way!"


	38. Thirtyeight

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_"Your company?" asked Hermione again, rather faintly. She looked like she expected the answer but wouldn't believe it until she heard it._

_"KaibaCorp," the man said shortly, his attention already back to the laptop he was working on._

_Terry's mouth fell in shock as Hermione's breath rushed out in a squeak: "No way!"_

* * *

><p>The man raised his head again to regard her coldly.<p>

She blushed and babbled: "I- I mean… the Kaiba Corporation…" she trailed off.

Terry could understand. _The _KaibaCorp…! It was unbelievable!

"Huh… Hermione?" asked Neville tentatively. "What, exactly…?"

"…is Kaiba Corporation?" finished the girl a little shrilly. "Oh, nothing… it's just the most amazingly successful multi-national company specializing in the entertainment and gaming industry in the world! It produces all – and I mean _all_ – the best and most advanced games! Their technology is at the cutting edge for every kind of gaming system!" she cried.

The man's mouth hinted at a pleased smile, which was gone a heartbeat later.

Terry was nodding along earnestly. He'd grown up with KaibaCorp games. They were _the_ best, hands down. The logo was almost worshipped by children the world over, because it practically guaranteed that the game bearing it would be of amazing quality.

KaibaCorp gaming devices were the kind of things you longed for and moped over and pestered your parents about all year long, secretly hoping to find them under the Christmas tree or among your birthday presents…

He remembered watching with jealousy a classmate who'd received one, courting their favour to be able to play; he remembered also being the one envied and coveted when it was his turn to boast about one and graciously allow his friends to partake in the fun, all the while gloating about it…

And many adults were just as bad! The more complex and refined devices were even used in professionally played games – Terry's whole family enjoyed watching the live broadcasts of Duel Monster Tournaments and the worldwide known duellers invariably used KaibaCorp's Duel Disks (and the spectators invariably oohed and aahed in wonder at the amazing holograms which gave the card based game a whole new level of spectacular thrills).

Not to mention the absolutely breath-taking Kaiba Land Amusement Parks that had been built on a few selected locations around the world… Terry had never had a chance to get to one, but of course he'd seen the ads on TV and just like any other boy of his generation, had dreamt of going.

Well, any boy who grew up in a muggle home, he supposed. He didn't think wizards knew of Kaiba's entertainment empire… come to think, he'd never heard of amusement parks in the wizarding world at all.

Which goes to show magic isn't all-awesome. Just mostly so.

And this man sitting before them was so casually claiming rights over all of this… it could only mean…

"You're Setho Kaiba!" he whispered in wonder, eyes growing wide in amazement.

They were truly meeting him… _The _Setho Kaiba…

Terry's eidetic memory slapped together bits and pieces of articles about him – the muggle press seemed to like to hound him as much as the wizarding version hunted Potter, and his mother was no exception, avidly devouring every gossip printed about the man.

There were so many wild rumours flying around about him… introvert genius, extremely shrewd businessman, mastermind inventor with detached cleverness and steely self-control… fiercely loyal to his brother and a few hand-picked friends, but ruthless and implacable with anyone else… some even claimed he'd driven his own adoptive father to suicide, only to take over KaibaCorp and turn it into one of the most successful enterprises worldwide… and then he'd kept it steadfastly at the top for over a decade!...

And he was here, before them, in the flesh!

Taking part into this Shadow Game Tournament!

Terry shook his head in amazement. That was possibly the weirdest discovery yet… the man was just about the last person Terry would have guessed to be part of the admittedly _rétro_ wizarding world!

"And this super corporation is… yours?" asked Potter sounding both impressed and a little sceptical.

The man sneered again: "I am CEO and majority shareholder and I have been since I was a teenager!" he snapped.

Potter raised his hands placatingly: "Ok, ok. Huh… good for you. Hmm…" he fidgeted a little.

The man narrowed his eyes at him: "Spit it out. I don't have all day."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Terry almost jumped at the blunt question. Of course, Mr. Kaiba was completely unfazed and merely kept his gaze trained on Potter, waiting him out with the patience of a predator stalking a prey.

The Gryffindor elaborated, floundering a little: "If you're the top bloke in such a huge corporation I imagine you're insanely busy…"

His speech was interrupted by Malfoy's outburst: "I don't believe it!"

They all turned to him, vaguely perplexed.

"It's not true!" he reiterated, crossing his arms defiantly. He was glaring at Mr. Kaiba with a mixture of contempt, incredulity and hatred and looked an the verge of exploding with indignation.

Potter hesitated, then sighed: "What, exactly, isn't true?" he asked, looking resigned to wait out the blond's latest tantrum.

"He can't be as successful as she says!" exclaimed Malfoy indignantly, with a jerk of his head towards Hermione. "That's completely ridiculous!"

"Why not?" asked the girl, irritated.

"He doesn't even believe in magic!" shouted Malfoy, throwing his arms wide, his tone suggesting that it was the most heinous crime he'd ever caught wind of.

"Of course I don't. My mind is sufficiently refined not to need such platitudes simply because it is hard to find other explanations for the bizarre or fantastical events I have witnessed," retorted Mr. Kaiba pointedly.

"Platitudes!" hissed Malfoy, inflated like a turkey with offended ire; the man scowling at him looked almost as outraged, though much more collected.

Terry stuffed a fist in his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

"Right, well," Potter sighed wearily. Evidently, he didn't find the idea of a catfight about the existence of magic as hilarious as Terry did. "My question stays. Aren't you supposed to be making business deals somewhere or something?"

"Nonsense for unrefined mind, is it?" fumed Malfoy, mostly ignored by everyone, though Terry spared him an amused glance and noticed Neville sidling up to the blond.

"I mean, won't your, huh, board of directors or, or stockholders or... whatever, expect you to be working?" persisted Potter. "Making decisions and organizing stuff and generally making money?"

"I have a strong suspicion that you don't really know much of anything about managing a word-renown corporation," commented Mr. Kaiba coldly. "At any rate, my brother is keeping an eye on things."

"I'll give you platitudes!" Neville grabbed Malfoy just as the blond lunged for the man behind the desk, dragging his arms back and forcing the blond to abort his ill-advised attack. "Let me go, Longbottom! I'll show this worthless hmphmm…" Calmly, the tall Gryffindor muffled Malfoy's raging shrieks with his firm hand.

"And anyway, if you don't believe in magic, what the hell are you doing in a magical tournament?" went on Potter as if nothing was happening next to him.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" spat Mr. Kaiba, turning rigidly to his laptop. Terry caught some mutterings about 'midgets with unnerving puppy-eyes guilt-tripping rivals in helping out with their mad plans _again'_.

Malfoy jerked violently and managed to twist free of Neville's restraining grip: "Let me go I said!" he shouted.

He slammed both his hands violently on the desk: "If magic is just _unrefined platitudes,_ then how do you explain _this_, you stupid muggle?" he shouted Malfoy. He looked beside himself with righteous anger as he whipped out his wand and pointed it dramatically at the sneering man.

Alarmed, Terry and Hermione both cried out to stop him. Potter, rather more practically, quickly raised a _Salvio Hexia_ shield between the two.

Malfoy's bellowed Hair Loss hex bounced off it and hurtled towards Hermione, who shrieked as all her hair fell off, leaving her completely bald.

"Malfoy, you _jerk!"_ she pounced on the blond and slapped him soundly.

He cried out and promptly dragged an annoyed looking Potter between him and the furious girl, holding him in place as a human shield behind which he cowered: "Give it a rest, you crazy wench! It's Potter who cast a shield, it's his damn fault…"

She whipped out her wand as she advanced on him, looking murderous: "Don't you dare…!"

Mr. Kaiba's calm, collected voice interjected with smoothness: "Interesting effect. A solution of metallic salts in thioglycolic acid and sodium hydroxide, I assume?"

They all froze and turned to him, wide-eyed and puzzled.

"I wonder what you used as catalyst…" he went on, unfazed. "Crushing the substance into a powder to increase the surface area of the reaction would not be sufficient to reduce the length of the telogen phase of the hair follicles enough… unless you're inducing hair loss during the anagen phase of the hair cycle? Preventing the matrix cells producing new hairs from dividing normally while the hair are supposedly actively growing, as occurs with chemotherapy drugs, usually results in hair shedding within a few days… I suppose an adjustment of the dosage to increase sensitivity to the drug in combination with a specific catalyst would easily be able to simulate an instantaneous, 'magical' effect. Rather ingenious, if a tad childish" he sort of praised.

Even Malfoy could find nothing to say to that and merely gaped at the genius in as much shock as the rest of them.

"The method of delivery, however," the man went back to sneering, "is rather pathetic. That weapon of yours looks like it was stolen from a blowpipe wielder in the Amazon – completely outdated design and no compatibility with any available upgrades to boot. I expect it's ridiculously hard to recharge…

Their jaws dropped a little further as he shook his head contemptuously.

Then he turned to Potter: "Your shielding device, on the other hand, is quite intriguing."

Okay. They'd officially entered the Twilight Zone. Terry rather wondered how he'd missed the signpost.

* * *

><p><em>AN:__ I'm having way too much fun writing Setho. Tee hee...  
><em>


	39. Thirtynine

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: Sorry for disappearing on you all... RL issues, you know how it is. I won't promise to return to regular updates, because I can't, but I'll do my best to keep the chapters coming!  
>Luna<br>_

* * *

><p><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_

_Okay. They'd officially entered the Twilight Zone. Terry rather wondered how he'd missed the signpost._

* * *

><p>Neville sighed loudly: "What I'd like to know is… what are we supposed to do, now? Mr… ehm… could you just tell us our next task, please?"<p>

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Kaiba, finally getting all of his attention off whatever work he was engrossed in and leaning back in his chair with the kind of lazy readiness a lounging leopard might have. "A sensible question. _At long last_."

Muttered grumblings from Potter and Hermione were quelled by a stern gaze from their fellow Gryffindor, who just stood patiently waiting for Mr. Kaiba's directions.

Terry's eyes moved back and forth between Neville's I-can-be-as-patient-as-a-rock-and-just-as-immobile-too attitude to their latest, nerve-racking opponent, who was watching the tall brown-haired boy with the intent gaze of an eagle who hasn't yet decided whether to classify him as Prey, Too-Big-To-Be-Prey or Uninteresting-Rock.

Then with the suddenness of a striking snake, Mr. Kaiba pushed a key on his laptop.

Five identical sections of the temple wall behind him vanished altogether, leaving them to peer beyond the desk station into five identical, dimly lit passageways.

Since the man wasn't moving or talking, just carefully observing them, they traded uncertain looks and then walked around him (Neville dragging a shell-shocked Malfoy) to where they could almost touch the wall.

If, indeed, there was a wall there at all. Terry hadn't forgotten Mr. Kaiba's quick explanation of his holographic scenery.

Impulsively, he thrust a hand forward into the solid-looking stone. Despite having somewhat expected it, he reeled with shock when it went right through, separating beams of coloured light into rays around its outline.

A random thought struck him and he had to stifle a laugh: he was used to transparent people – the ghosts – going through a solid world, but how weird was it to see a translucent world pass through a solid person?

"Are we… supposed to go on alone?" asked Neville sounding nervous.

"What?" Terry jerked his attention back from his playing with the holographic light rays and tried to peer further down the passageways. Unfortunately there wasn't much to see. "But…?"

There was no answer forthcoming, only that calm, scrutinizing gaze that was chilling him to the bones.

"Well?" demanded Potter rather impatiently.

The man snorted disdainfully and turned his back to them, once again focusing on his laptop. Terry peered discreetly over his shoulder and saw a green-on-black chart next to an impressive wall of figures that he knew would never make any sense to him.

Right. They were on their own. Message received.

They sighed and spread until each faced one of the identical entryways.

That was when Malfoy roused suddenly from his shock and glared at the openings with an ugly scowl: "I. Refuse," he bit out through clenched teeth.

"Malfoy…" started Hermione, already exasperated.

"Hell, no!" cried Malfoy. "I'm not doing it. It's bad enough to be dragged into this madness by proper _wizards_. I won't let an idiotic muggle too blind to see what's under his very nose force me to deal with his nonsensical _combutens_ and whatever! I. Refuse."

He glowered furiously at all of them, especially Mr. Kaiba.

The man swivelled around in his chair, eyes burning with chilling rage.

Potter didn't waste time. He simply grabbed Malfoy and shoved the stunned, indignant boy into one of the passages. Hard.

Terry bit his lip to stop from laughing. That Gryffindor sure knew how to handle a crisis.

"A most effective way to deal with such a nuisance. Allow me to compliment you on your practicality," sneered Mr. Kaiba.

Potter shrugged sheepishly.

"I will, on the other hand, refrain from commenting on your evident obliviousness, in light of the necessity of sparing the time you do not seem to realize is essential to the completion of your task."

"Huh?"

"There is a time limit!" cried Hermione, who apparently had been able to decipher the convoluted speech.

"What!" the three remaining boys cried in dismay.

Mr. Kaiba nodded unconcernedly to a digital clock ticking a count-down. It was already showing 43:27... 43:26... 43:25... How had they missed it?

"I strongly recommend you do not waste any more valuable time. Be it yours or mine."

Potter narrowed his eyes at Mr. Kaiba, a scowl firmly in place.

"Not now, Harry!" said Hermione a little frantically. "Complete the task first. Argue later!"

Potter looked pretty disgruntled, but nodded.

He made to enter another of the passages and Terry moved to copy him, choosing the one at the utmost right. But suddenly Potter stopped and whirled around again: "Wait a sec. Aren't you going to, I don't know… keep an eye on us? If you're supposed to evaluate us and all?" he asked not very friendlily.

Mr. Kaiba swivelled around in his chair, turning to face him just so he could bestow the full force of his contemptuous gaze on the dark-haired teen: "You have been under surveillance the whole time. My security cameras," he negligently pointed towards the distant ceiling and they all automatically looked up, obviously not spotting anything in the shadows of the rocky vault, "have tagged you the moment you stepped into the room with the guns."

"What!"

It was really impressive how he managed to look down on them while sitting and letting them stand taller.

Sighing, they exchanged a last glance and resigned themselves to facing whatever the sneering genius had in store for them.

Terry caught Neville mouthing a 'good luck' just before he disappeared into his own passage and smiled weakly. Here went nothing!


	40. Forty

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:_

_Sighing, they exchanged a last glance and resigned themselves to facing whatever the sneering genius had in store for them._

_Terry caught Neville mouthing a 'good luck' just before he disappeared into his own passage and smiled weakly. Here went nothing!_

* * *

><p>As soon as Terry took the two steps needed to cross the threshold, the dark, rundown corridor he could see through from 'outside' turned out to not be there.<p>

As the saying goes, all was not how it appeared and between one eye blink and the next, he was standing in a clean, well-lit passageway.

It was as clean and as unremarkable as an hospital hallway. The tiled flooring was sturdy, each light blue ceramic tile spotless. The walls were painted an anonymous, pale grey. Terry snorted.

Carefully, he put his hand through the right wall. Once more, it went right through a stream of light rays that scattered haloing its outline.

He sighed.

Somehow, he suspected that moving through the walls of the illusion would be counted as cheating, so he had no choice but to go on along the corridor.

He took a deep breath, unable to understand why he felt so out of sorts all of a sudden.

Then he realized: this was the first time he was all alone since this madness had started. The silence was getting to him badly. It was hard to bear: it made the atmosphere of this unremarkable corridor almost agonizing.

He berated himself. There didn't seem to be anything dangerous here and it was ridiculous to be scared just because he was suddenly alone. He wasn't a baby for pity's sake!

Forcing himself to ignore his unease, he moved further down the corridor, to where he could see a staircase with pale grey banisters. Curious, he drew closer and tentatively tested the first step with a cautious foot.

To his enormous surprise, it was solid and sturdy enough to support his weight. Either Mr. Kaiba had found a way to make his illusions real to more than sight and hearing… or this was authentic after all.

He tried out the walls again.

Light beams exploded from that point, scattering every which way in a whirlwind of colours around the dark silhouette of his hand. The same happened when he drove his hand down right through the banister.

So the walls were holograms, while the floors were real… it was likely, then, that the walls were devised to create a maze of sorts, to disorient and confuse them. It made sense, if the goal of the game was to finish the track within a certain time.

Terry perked up as he realized that this was a perfect occasion to use his Millennium trinket.

He fished it out of his shirt, drawing it out by tugging on its chain. The weird silver ring with the engraved Eye of Wadjet was still both mysterious and gaudy. Terry fiddled a little with its five hanging prongs, until he realized that he needed to choose a destination in order to activate it.

He groaned, all of a sudden remembering that they were on a tight schedule. And here he was wasting time! He wished he had a watch…

Then he smacked his forehead: what did he need a watch for, he knew how to perform a _Tempus_ spell! This place was really wrecking havoc on his nerves.

Irritated with himself, he closed his eyes, focusing on the idea of 'exit'. The ring in his hands started to glow feebly and he opened his eyes once more to see the left prong no longer hanging loosely from the ring, but quivering. It was also a little brighter than the others.

Alright. Left it was, then… he could see an opening further up that would allow him to turn in the wanted direction, so he started climbing quickly.

Out of the blue, a big cubic boulder sprang into existence from the wall right before him. Caught off guard, he cried out and jumped back, forgetting that it was probably a hologram. Taking a breath to calm his racing heart, he spat a few choice words at the damn thing. Then he realized that a short sentence was suspended inside it, in black, regular lettering, moving gently as if it was floating on invisible waves.

_If a rectangular box that leans on a frictionless wall with one corner and rests on a frictionless floor with another corner starts sliding down, does the moment when will it become detached from the wall depend on the angle of incline of the box?_

Oh bloody hell.

He sighed, closing his eyes and praying for patience.

Right, right… so… the centre of mass could be related to the angle of incline of the box, so the speed with which its position changed would depend on the rate of change of said angle… so…

"Yes," he said firmly.

The boulder disappeared noiselessly into the wall again.

Grumbling in annoyance, Terry hurried further.

Just as he turned into the opening on the left, starting down the short set of stairs he'd found there there, another big cube sprang up a step down from him. He jumped back with a yelled curse, stumbling on the step behind him and falling painfully on his butt.

"Damn it all!" he shouted, exasperated.

On top of it, the question was beyond reasonability: _Which of the following acid is more acidic, Cl-CH2COOH or CH3-COOH? _

He didn't even know how to read that stuff, how was he supposed to know an answer?

But wait… these were all holograms, right?

Cautiously, he touched the boulder with his hand and… yes! The peculiar buzzing feeling that he'd come to associate with touching a holographic projection happened again, covering his hands with pins and needls. He rolled his eyes. The entire thing was probably just a plot to slow them down. And he'd fallen for it! Wasting time to find the damn answer instead of simply going through!

Well, no more! Determined, he stepped forth right through the boulder.

And cried out as the world exploded into white blindness.

An electric jolt had gone through his body, barely painful but almost overwhelming to his senses. He jerked back up the stairs and stumbled again. His legs were going to be covered in bruises if this kept on!

He breathed deeply. His sight was still blinded, but the other senses were quickly returning. He could again hear the silence, broken only by his own cursing, and feel the smooth cold tiles under his body.

Apparently, the questions weren't such a useless ruse after all.

And he was wasting time again!

Angrily, he stood up, his vision still a little blurry but good enough to move. He stalked back up the stairs and into the first corridor, but when he tried to go on in his original direction, his ring abruptly stopped glowing altogether.

He stepped back towards the left branch. The faint glow returned, more noticeable in the left prong. A step towards the right and the ring dulled. A few towards the left and it grew brighter.

Damn.

Not knowing what else to do, he crossed his fingers that a wrong answer wouldn't have any horrific results and simply guessed: "The first one!"

He nearly collapsed in relief when the stupid cube-like boulder sank into the floor.

He went on, his angry steps somewhat cowed by the caution with which he couldn't help keeping alert for the next not-quite-holografic cube.

After a while, the prongs on the ring changed, the intensity of their glow switching until it indicated 'right' with finality, in correspondence with an opening on the wall.

Terry wondered if the others were okay, or if one of them was in trouble. As soon as the thought had formed, the ring's glow switched again, this time pointing straight forward and almost pulsing.

Terry stopped short.

He thought of the exit. The prongs towards the right flared.

He thought of the others in trouble. The prongs indicating ahead returned to gleaming.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

With a sigh, Terry moved forward, to whomever was in need of assistance.


	41. Fortyone

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: I contradicted myself last chapter, about the way the Millennium Ring replica worked. Sorry about that! I've fixed the mishap now. Luna  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:_

_With a sigh, Terry moved forward, to whomever was in need of assistance._

* * *

><p>It wasn't long before he saw a dark shape crouched in a corner, just a hint of pale blond hair peeking out of his cloak.<p>

"Malfoy?" Terry ran down an impromptu ramp and fell to his knees next to the huddled form. The blond was pale and shivering violently, but scowled at him anyway, asking rudely: "What do you want?"

"Malfoy? What happened to you?"

"None of your business!" the Slytherin snapped.

Terry rolled his eyes in annoyance as he backed off. Why had he even bothered?

Still, when the blond had troubles standing and had to lean on the wall to steady his wobbling legs, Terry's worry overcame his irritation.

He'd seen the blond look this upset before… but when? Then in a rush, the memory made sense: in Ryou's forest, when he'd had that first 'vision'!

Remembering what Potter had said about drinking being of help, he quickly transfigured his tie (which was going to go down in his personal history as Most Versatile Item In His Wardrobe once all was said and done) into a chalice and filled it with water.

He took it as a sign that the vision had been a bad one when Malfoy drained it without even a token protest.

"What did you see?" he asked curiously.

The blond sneered at him and snapped haughtily: "You're starting to make less sense than Longbottom, Boot, and that's saying a lot. You might want to keep your mouth shut before people start realizing what an idiot you are."

"Watch your mouth, Malfoy!" retorted Terry, annoyed. Merlin, whatever he'd seen had to have really affected him, he was more infuriating than usual!

The blond took a deep breath and shove Terry away, stalking off.

Gritting his teeth to prevent himself from hexing the aggravating Slytherin, Terry bit off: "That's the wrong way."

Malfoy swirled in place and glowered at him: "One," he said chillingly, "I'm not going _anywhere_, except away from your nosy stupidity, so there can be no 'wrong' way."

"Oh, stuff it!" exploded Terry, crossing his arms mulishly.

"Two," went on the maddening blond, supremely ignoring him, "what would an uncultured idiot like you know about it, anyway?"

Terry glared. He should have just gone on to the exit and left the boorish Slytherin to fend for himself!

"Hello-o?" he sing-songed dangling his trinket from its chain in front of the other's sneer. "Magical sort-of-compass here!"

Malfoy scoffed haughtily: "You probably aren't even able to use it properly, Boot."

"Why, you!" yelled Terry, at the end of his rope. "Just who do you think you are?"

The Slytherin's eyes flashed: "Who do I… _I, _Boot_,_ am the Heir to the Malfoy Family! The carrier of one of the wizarding world's wealthiest and most influential names! We are the nobility among magic users - and I'll be damned if I just bow to the whims of a blockhead too blind to even admit to the existence of magic!"

Terry blinked: was _that_ the problem? It didn't make any sense! So what if Mr. Kaiba didn't believe in magic? Plenty of people didn't!

"But what would someone _like you_ know of what it means to bear the responsibility of inheriting a Lordship," Malfoy went on contemptuously, "or to try and maintain some dignity among uncouth plebeians…"

Stung, Terry snorted back: "Dignity, ha! And responsibility, what a laugh! As if you knew the meaning of the word, you rotten spoilt prince. You and your precious father can only resort to squandering money to get your way – that's not nobility! You have no concept of – of chivalry and duty to the others, or of earning loyalty, why, if anyone was ever so unlucky as to depend upon you, I pity them!"

"How dare you!"

"And I may be a 'peasant', but at least I have manners – which is more than can be said for you, Mr. Malfoy Heir! For all your claims of _supposed _superiority, you're as rude as a longshoreman!"

Malfoy stopped in mid-step, rooted to the spot. He looked shocked.

"I don't care who the hell your father is, or _his _father for that matter, because guess what? It's _you_ I'm stuck with – it's you that matter! Not how many titled ancestors you can sew into a damn family tree, but whether or not _you're_ worth anything. Which I really doubt, by the way."

Malfoy glared murderously at him, but Terry just shrugged. The time when he felt too intimidated by Malfoy's arrogance to stand up to him had passed at some point or other during this absurd Tournament. Besides, it felt good to throw the conceited Slytherin's insults right back. Maybe this was why Potter was always so quick to quarrel with him?

Seeing that the Ravenclaw, for once, wasn't cowed, Malfoy's expression became sour and he glanced away sullenly.

Terry shot him a self-satisfied look and turned away, marching down the path to try and find the point he'd reached before deviating to assist the blond.

His annoyance mounted again when he realized the stupid snake was still mulishly refusing to budge, but he dealt with the two questions the holographic maze sprung on him in quick succession, trying to forget the blond snob and his ridiculous sulks.

Before passing through the opening and into another bland-looking corridor, he shot a glance back.

Malfoy was scowling, with his arms crossed and looking pretty disgruntled. He looked cute that way, like a kitten that was all puffed up trying to look tough. Terry fought to avoid grinning, because he just knew he'd end up hexed if he did…

But he was irritated enough that he felt no compunctions throwing a rather nasty parting shot back at the Slytherin: "You know, if you're serious about living up to the role of aristocratic leader, not that it isn't an unbelievably outdated concept, but anyway, maybe you should get a clue about what the duty of a _true _lord is… like, to take care of and protect his people – something you don't even seem to understand the need for. And try and consider the possibility – shocking I know – that you might be called to sacrifice your comfort - gasp! - for the good of the many, from time to time. 'Cause _that's _what being a true lord means, if you ask me – nothing to do with money or silly titles."

He hesitated only a heartbit before adding a last sting: "I recommend you look to Potter for advice… he's a much better leader than you!"

And he marched on without a second glance, the blond's hissed outrage following him like a thunderous echo.

He'd just triggered yet another question-cube, this time from the not-really-visible ceiling, when angry steps caught up with him. A livid-looking Malfoy, his body tense and his lips firmly thinned, shot a disgusted glare at the floating words, _How many body parts does a lobster have?_, and snapped out: "Seven."

Terry, who'd backed away in surprise, approached cautiously again, not entirely sure about this apparent change of heart. "How do you even know?" he mused, not really talking to the jerk, but unable to keep the question from slipping out.

Amazingly enough, Malfoy deigned to answer acidly: "How are you supposed to transfigure one if you _don't _know?"

Terry lifted his hands in surrender. He hadn't ever felt the need to transfigure a lobster, nor could he ever imagine a situation where he would, but… he supposed the blond had a point. Of sorts.

Malfoy transferred his glare to him: "Well, Boots? What now?"

Terry shook his head in amazement. Was the lack of outspoken insults to be taken as progress? Whatever. "We need to find the others, I think," he said.

"No we don't," was the immediate retort.

"They might be in trouble," pointed out Terry reasonably.

"See if I care," was the sourly muttered response.

Terry rolled his eyes. Progress? Wishful thinking…

"Just find the damn exit, Boot. You_ can_ manage such a simple task, I hope?"

Terry glowered at him, then gave a disgusted sigh. It just wasn't worth it.

Holding his ring steadily in his hands, he ostensibly asked for the exit way, while focusing his thoughts on Hermione instead. Malfoy could hardly blame him if they happened to run into the others 'by chance', right?

It took two turns to the left and Terry fielding a question on whether or not division by zero was allowed in mathematics before they heard Potter's voice asking incredulously: "_Is dandruff living or non-living? _No, seriously? Is this for real?"

"Non-living," answered Hermione matter-of -factly. "It is, essentially, dead skin, so…"

"That's not the point! What kind of lame question is it?..."

"Hey there!" called out Terry, turning another corner, this time to the right, and coming up behind them, a sulky blond in tow.

"Terry!" the two Gryffindor exclaimed. "And Malfoy. Good, now we only need to find Neville…"

* * *

><p><em>AN:__ Ahem. Not exactly how I had envisioned this conversation going. It just... came out this way, with Malfoy and Terry getting the better of me and going off on their own personal rants. Well. We'll see where this leads me... Luna_


	42. Fortytwo

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:__

_"Hey there!" called out Terry, turning another corner, this time to the right, and coming up behind them, a sulky blond in tow._

_"Terry!" the two Gryffindor exclaimed. "And Malfoy. Good, now we only need to find Neville…"_

* * *

><p>They worked their way through the maze. Terry was in the lead because of his ring and tried hard to ignore Malfoy's sulking, Hermione's fretting over the time limit and Potter's childish complaint about the stupidity andor impossibility of the questions.

In an effort to distract his companions, he asked what had happened to the two Gryffindors before he and Malfoy had caught up.

Not much, as it turned out: "Oh, we ran into each other pretty soon, right after I figured out I couldn't just bypass these stupid questions. Seriously," Potter told him with a shrug, adding in a mid-voice grumble: "_What is baking soda, _really, who the hell bothers with some brainiac definition when all you need it for is leavening? Anyway," he'd returned to addressing Terry, "Hermione rescued me, and how she knew sodium bicarbonate is the answer I'll never guess, mind you, I doubt dough and batter give a damn what it's called, or bakers for that matter… but whatever; then we ran into some questions that even she didn't know how to answer and…"

"Honestly, Harry!" interrupted Hermione rather shrilly. "Give it a rest - we don't have time to go over every detail. We only have thirteen minutes left!"

"Thirteen minutes?" yelped Terry dismayed. How had they wasted so much time? Damn Malfoy and his stupid sulks!

"Chill, guys, I'm sure we're close," said Potter trying to reassure them, only to back off a step when Terry and Hermione both glared at him.

Bringing his attention back to the maze, Terry led them around the umpteenth corner and stopped, facing a fork.

Both paths were blocked by cube-boulders, each with its floating question: _Do objects float in liquids denser than themselves?_ swayed on their left, while a tougher one,_ Do aquatic plants have thinner leaves than terrestrial plants to facilitate the gaseous exchange?_ taunted them from the right.

Before they could attempt to answer, Potter called out: "Hey, look! Over there!"

He was pointing down the left path and Hermione impatiently yelled to the boulder-question: "Yes! Of course they do! Archimedes Principle! Now disappear already!"

The holographic boulder obliged and they caught sight, down the corridor where they were headed, of the missing member of their group. The tall Gryffindor was sitting cross-legged at a fork, a piece of parchment spread on his legs.

"Neville!" exclaimed Potter, relieved. They all hastened towards him, Hermione grumbling about his 'lazing about': "Come on, let's get a move on!" she cried impatiently.

Neville was diligently making a notation on his piece of parchment, but raised his gaze when he heard them approach: "There you all are!" he exclaimed, apparently oblivious to Hermione's irritation. "That's good. Now we'll be able to get out!"

"Huh?" they all said intelligently.

"Well, I examined the exit ways and they're all connected. Either we open them all at the same time, or we're stuck here," he said matter-of-factly.

"How did you have the time to do that?" asked Hermione, shocked.

Neville blinked: "Well, it's pretty easy to navigate these corridors…"

They gave him a deadpan look.

He hesitated, but then forged on: "Well, you see, the questions that pop up are thematic, right? So all you have to do is follow your chosen topic and you get straight to the matching exit! I just tried a couple different routes until I found the Herbology path and… voilà!"

There was a long silence, then Terry commented: "I feel stupid now."

Neville gave him an uncertain look.

Hermione's rather frosty tone reminded them: "Nine minutes!"

They jumped and Neville hurriedly waved the parchment he'd been working on: "Look! I mapped this place and the thematic paths." He gave them a sheepish smile: "You know I've got a memory like a sieve, and magical means only help so far – remember my Rememberall, Harry?"

Potter reacted chuckling and shooting Malfoy a smug glance, while the blond scowled and huffed, looking put out. Terry made a mental note to ask about that. When they had the time.

"The point is, I've taken the habit of making notations and maps, otherwise I'd still get lost in Hogwarts! I'm rather proficient, all in all." Neville gestured them closer to the map: "Here! I copied down the questions, too, and noted who's more likely to know the answer… that way we won't lose much more time!"

Indeed, picking a random corridor drawn a tad wobbly on the impromptu map, Terry could read, in Neville's small, neat handwriting, notes like: _[Arithmancy] What is the value in the middle of a set ordered from least to greatest called? [Hermione] _and _[Zoological Transfiguration] What glands do humans and dolphins have in common? [Malfoy]_

Terry was impressed.

He quickly sought his own name and found it on the path leading to the central exit, next to the heading 'Muggle Sciences'. The first question listed read: _What is the acronym for the device that emits electromagnetic radiation through stimulated emission of photons?_

He actually knew the answer was 'laser', but he wondered how Neville had guessed he could handle it. He didn't think the other boy had ever been around when he'd discussed his extra reading with Tony and Mike. Had he?

"These here are the ones _I_ know," said the tall boy proudly, showing the corridor on the right, where the first question noted was _[Herbology] What is a botanical garden containing living collections of willows called? [Me]. _Terry's eyes slipped to the last one and his eyebrows raised of their own accord: _[Herbology] What is the taxon of plants which can survive in dry environment called? [Me]._

Did Neville actually know the answer? If he did, that was remarkable.

"Why do I have the lamest ones?" complained Potter. "_Is it possible to make a battery from fruit_, what kind of nutcase even thinks…?"

"Ehm… they're the ones left out…" said Neville apologetically and Potter scowled at him.

"Later!" cried Hermione, who looked positively frazzled. "Seven minutes!"

"Alright!"

They hurried where Neville pointed them to go and made quick work of the boulders blocking their path.

Once the last one was cleared, Terry could see what Neville meant by 'connected'. Lines of neon blue light were embedded in the final wall in an intricate web and like the Gryffindor had mentioned, they linked all five exits, centring on five round 'handles' of sorts, one on each outlined door.

If Terry had the time, he might have liked to admire the elaborate pattern. They had other priorities, though.

Hermione's shrill "Two minutes!" rang out in the silent corridors, quickly followed by Neville's "Everybody in position?"

Various 'yes' chorused while Terry focused on the last question, floating before his eyes above the outline of the door: _In what fashion does a bob attached by a string to a pivot point move? _An easy one, luckily, once he'd figured out it meant a pendulum.

Then Potter started counting down: "Three, two, one…"

"Periodic!" exclaimed Terry, the others' answers lost in the noise of their shouts.

When the answer rang true, a purple neon light shot out of the round handle, running along a path on the blue neon web to meet the other four purple ones, until it was just one line, continuous. Then with a brief white glare the doors vanished, showing five dark passages identical to those they'd entered from.

They'd barely taken a couple steps down the passages when a loud, annoying siren started wailing and the doors reappeared with a loud locking sound. Had they still been inside, they'd be trapped!

Terry hurried out of the passage and met the others, all looking rather shaken by the close call.

"Just in the nick of time, eh?" asked Potter, looking immensely relieved to be out. "Good job, Nev."

Hermione looked thoroughly bad-tempered and was muttering angrily to herself: "Can't believe I didn't do better, it was no different from a test…!"

Terry just shrugged. He liked his good grades sure enough, but as this particular performance wasn't likely to end up in a report paper, he didn't see the point in fretting so.

Rather, he looked curiously around.

The real-looking image of the back of the Temple was about the most interesting thing in sight. The rest of the place was empty, except for a single, metallic locker about as tall as Hermione. Terry could conceive no possible reason for it to be there, but aside for that, it wasn't exactly attention-grabbing.

Much more worrisome was the fact that the mighty set of doors in the furthest stone wall was inexorably closed.

They looked at each other helplessly.

"Now what?"


	43. Fortythree

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: Many thanks to mist shadow, who gave me the idea for this chapter!  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:__

_Much more worrisome was the fact that the mighty set of doors in the furthest stone wall was inexorably closed._

_They looked at each other helplessly._

_"Now what?"_

* * *

><p>With no clear idea of what to do, they settled to wait.<p>

Hermione snatched up Neville's map and sank to the ground to pour over it, muttering to herself about how she should have known this answer or that one. As if it could make any difference. Potter went to check the locked doors, rattle them, poke at the lock, as if he knew how to pick locks. Well, maybe he did at that. It probably wouldn't do any good anyway.

Neville sat calmly with his back leaning on the incongruous locker, apparently unconcerned, while Malfoy sulked a little while away, not that anyone really minded receiving the silent treatment from _him_.

Terry wished he had a book.

Even if it seemed like ages, however, in the end only a handful of minutes went by before the doors unexpectedly opened and someone strolled leisurely in.

Potter had instantly jumped back and his wand was instinctively out before he could think things through; the others fished theirs out in turn, just an automatic reaction, and scrambled to their feet. They needn't have worried though.

The newcomer didn't even bat an eye and just took a few more steps in, before stopping and blinking at them in surprise.

He looked like a second edition of Mr. Kaiba, from the brown bangs falling casually over his eyes down to the formal, designer clothes and lengthy jacket, blue rather than white but otherwise identical. They could have mistaken him for their opponent, if it wasn't for the big, friendly grin the bloke sported: an expression that, even with only a short meeting, they'd already realized was simply inconceivable on Mr. Kaiba.

"Hello, there!" the newcomer exclaimed affably. "I guess you're the newest candidates? I didn't expect you so soon!"

"Uh… hello?" tried Potter tentatively, lowering his wand. "Err… are you… I mean… who…?"

The other man smiled genially: "I am the vice-president of KaibaCorp! You may call me Mokuba – otherwise it'll become very confusing with my brother and me both being called Kaiba…"

"Brother?" asked Terry interested. He hadn't known the amazingly successful CEO had a twin!

"You have met my big brother, haven't you?" asked Mokuba lightly. Ah, okay, not a twin then. Close, though. "I know he often gets lost in his work, but surely he's met you before the Game?"

"Yes, we…" started Hermione, but at that moment a scowling Malfoy marched up to the newly arrived man, rudely invading his personal space, and bit out dangerously: "Do _you_ believe in magic?"

Mr. Mokuba blinked and stilled, focusing on the grim and hostile blond. After a stretched silence, he said with forced calm: "Please tell me that you _didn't_ ask my brother this!"

The four of them burst out chuckling. They really couldn't help it!

"Shut up!" cried Malfoy shooting them a furious glare, then rounded on Mokuba again: "I – want – answers!" he bit out through clenched teeth.

The man looked inordinately amused: "Do you now? And to what questions, if I may be so bold?"

Malfoy hissed angrily at the mocking tone. "I want to know why we've been _kidnapped!"_

Mokuba's smile was suddenly reminiscing: "Ah, to be young and naïve… I remember when I was in my teens... still thinking that demanding to know why I'd been kidnapped was any use…" he sighed, mock-moved. "Come to think of it, I don't think I ever found out what most of those kidnappings were about…" he concluded pensively.

Malfoy's irritation reached a new level and his eye twitched ominously.

"You make it sound like being kidnapped was the norm for you," remarked Terry dryly.

"Well, you know how it is. Success and danger go hand in hand. Let's see… there was that time our old friend Pegasus locked me in that tower to force my brother to duel him… the time I was dragged to the other side of the world by a rival of my brother… the time I was locked in a warehouse with Yugi's silly cheerleader, the time Pegasus' thug imprisoned me... twice - no, three times the Big Five tried to blackmail my brother by abducting me... that one time I was taken by error instead of Princess Adina, once my bodyguard turned out to be paid by an enemy… that time those Rare Hunters kidnapped me and dangled me from a helicopter, now that was almost fun, in retrospect… there was the time I was held hostage in the Virtual World, not that I blame Noah, he was just confused you know, turned out pretty alright in the end, then the time that bastard Jonouchi messed up and…"

"Wow," interjected Potter deadpan, "I feel so outclassed now. Perhaps I should let old Tommy boy know he's soooo behind in the kidnapping department…"

Hermione chocked on her laughter, while everybody else looked at him in disbelief, or in Mokuba's case, bland incomprehension.

"Anyway, on with the show!" cried Mokuba cheerfully. "You've completed the Game, so now it's time for…"

He was interrupted by a phone trill.

Terry watched in envy as he fished a black hand-held phone out of a pocket: mobile phones were very expensive and this one didn't look like the bulky "brick" phones his father was given by the company he worked for. Its design was sophisticatedly elegant.

Mokuba excused himself with a faint smile and turned around to talk rapidly in what sounded like Japanese.

He listened for a while, then said something else curtly and cut the conversation with a frown.

"Problems?" asked Potter flippantly.

Mokuba blinked: "Ah… yes, that is, no – nothing serious, some difficulties arising with one of our projects… I should perhaps go check it out… unless…" he suddenly grinned and flipped the phone open again, quickly pressing in a number: "Setho?" they heard him ask, immediately followed by another stream of rapid-fire Japanese.

A pause. Then his grin widened and he quickly agreed to something, at least if his enthusiastic nodding was anything to go by.

Another, slightly longer pause, followed by a chirpy sentence that sounded like a goodbye, and he turned to them again: "Excellent! My big brother's going to handle the matter… which means, I get to give out the prizes! So, want to know who's the lucky winner of this round? My brother gave me all the scores!"

"Err…"

"Wonderful! Let's see!" he exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than any of them was feeling.


	44. Fortyfour

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_Mokuba exclaimed, with much more enthusiasm than any of them was feeling: "So, want to know who's the lucky winner of this round? My brother gave me all the scores!"_

* * *

><p>Mokuba was bouncing about excitedly like a small kid that has just been promised sweets. Terry spared a thought to marvel at how he could possibly be related to Mr. Kaiba.<p>

The man skipped lightly to the metallic locker, Neville hurriedly moving out of his way, until he stood tall before the grey piece of furniture and turned to face their rather perplexed expressions.

"So!..." he exclaimed cheerfully looking at each of them in turn, where they'd instinctively fanned out in a semicircle around him. "Scores were attributed based on Conduct, Judgment, Spirit, Attitude, and Bonus!"

They traded glances, a tad amused a tad unnerved at his jubilant tone.

"You all started off with 10 points. Conduct measured how promptly you recognized and followed instructions: one point was deducted for every minute you delayed entering the maze."

"Oops," commented Potter quietly.

Mokuba didn't show that he'd noticed: "Judgment measured how well you could estimate the time needed to complete the Game: one point was added for every minute of the time you had remaining on the clock when you crossed the exit."

"Just great," muttered Hermione bitterly.

"Attitude measured how sensibly you handled the task: one point was deducted every ten steps you were forced to take…"

"What?" yelped Terry, surprised.

"…and one point added for every question you answered correctly on the first try," went on Mokuba unperturbed. "Spirit measured your determination and integrity as Gamers! One point was added every time you didn't immediately changed path when confronted with a question you couldn't answer and one point was deducted every time you tried to cheat by going through the holograms."

Sheepish grins met his mock-glare.

"Bonus would have given you points for discovering and answering the five extra questions hidden in the maze – which none of you did," Mokuba pouted a little.

"That means… you" he suddenly pointed an accusing finger to Potter, "are in the negatives!" he shook his head disappointedly, but there was amusement lurking in the eyes peeking out of his dark bangs. Potter mock-pouted back.

"You three didn't do too bad," Mokuba told Terry, Hermione and Malfoy, "but you still lost some of the starting points and you," he smiled at Neville, "were the only one to gain some, so with the grand total of 12 points, you're the winner!"

Neville, to Terry and Potter's great amusement, looked shocked.

"And now…" Mokuba spun back to the locker and opened it theatrically: "Prizes!"

He took out three glass cups filled with chocolate ice-cream topped with whipped cream, a single ruby red cherry perched on top, and balanced them precariously in his arms.

"You don't get anything," Mokuba told Harry almost petulantly. "Serves you right for trying to tinker with the holograms!" But he winked to take the sting off the reprimand.

Harry grumbled good-naturedly: "Wasn't trying to mess around! Just looking for a better way to do things, you know?" and the man chuckled before going on to distribute the desserts: "Behold!" he cried dramatically, exaggerating the grand gesture of offering. "The most wonderful and most widely craved sweet in the world! Chocolate parfait!"

Terry burst out laughing.

He noticed that Hermione looked upset as she turned the cup over and over in her hands and Malfoy had done nothing but stare at it as if it was filled to the brim with poison or acid, forcing Potter to take it in his place, but _he_ refused to worry and simply transfigured his tie into a spoon, then eagerly dug in. Mmm… it was sinfully good!

"I'm getting one too… best dish in the whole world! But first…" muttered Mokuba turning to rummage in the locker again, while Potter transfigured a couple spoons and generously shared Malfoy's parfait with Neville. The blond just glared disgustedly at them.

"And here we go!" Mokuba re-emerged from the locker, one hand securely clasped around another glass cup of chocolate parfait, while the other held out a thin sceptre-like monstrosity, made of a silver stick topped by an ugly ball bearing an Eye of Wadjet in bas-relief, from which two oddly shaped handles protruded, that could have represented wings or ears – Terry really couldn't tell which.

He gave it to Neville with a big grin.

The boy wiped his hands down on his robe nervously and cautiously took it: "Is… is this…?"

"It's the replica of the Millennium Rod!" said Mokuba cheerfully. "Yugi asked us to produce one, so I took care of it. It came out pretty cool, wouldn't you think?"

Terry privately thought it was a matter of opinion. His ring was gaudy, but at least it had a remarkable, exotic design. This rod was just ugly.

Neville however was staring at it reverently, as if he couldn't believe that the sceptre-like stick truly rested in his hands.

"I made sure to stay as close to the original as possible, in its design. Luckily I'd seen the real deal often enough, before the Items were disposed of, because my brother was its keeper. I don't know how he got to have it, though…" concluded Mokuba pensively.

"Marik Ishtar gave it to me," said an irritated voice behind them.

They all turned and gaped at the illusionary temple fizzling and trembling, light coalescing strangely around the tall, slim figure of Setho Kaiba emerging from it at a brisk pace. Of course, he was completely disregarding the supposed presence of stone pillars.

Terry felt mesmerized by his overbearing self-confidence: he moved as if he expected the world to rearrange itself for his convenience!

"Before he died," Mr. Kaiba clarified at their puzzled looks, then rolled his eyes: "…because he was convinced that I am the 'reincarnation' of Hight Priest Seth, cousin of the Nameless Pharaoh, who supposefly owned the thing originally."

Malfoy's breath caught: "You are?" he asked in disbelief.

"Of course not!" Mr. Kaiba scoffed. "Utterly ridiculous notion. Then again, that Egyptian fool was certifiable…"

They raised their eyebrows, wondering if they could dare ask for more. The all seemed to decide that they would not. Mr. Kaiba was beyond intimidating and he already looked irritated.

Instead, they turned to Mokuba. It was really strange to think the two men were related. Where Setho Kaiba was cold, aloof and completely self-sufficient, his brother was spunky, sociable and bubbly.

Catching their interest, Mokuba obliged lively: "Marik Isthar was the heir to a clan of Tomb Keepers that had guarded the last resting place of the Nameless Pharaoh for generations. Err… you might want to ask Yugi about the details, nobody knows more than him about the whole thing, after all. The important point is that the Millennium Rod stayed in the family, generation after generation, until Marik… passed it on to you?" finished uncertainly, turning to his brother, who simply gazed coolly back.

Mokuba shrugged: "I've always thought there was some big, dark secret behind it all, but all Ishizu will say is that the Rod's main use in Egyptian times was to seal the Ka hiding inside of people into stone tablets."

"Preposterous," commented Mr. Kaiba

"She says her brother told her…" tried Mokuba, only to be cut off: "It matters not. He was insane."

"Insane because he believed in the truth of magic?" asked Malfoy acidly.

"Ah… no… he was really crazy," said Mokuba delicately. "Split Personality Disorder. Developed from the conflict between his overwhelming hatred and desire for revenge against the nameless Pharaoh, and the burden of his duties as Guardian of the Tomb - or at least, that's the official version, and it might well be true. I didn't know you'd kept in touch with him after he returned to Egypt," he said to his brother, frowning a little.

"I did not," retorted Setho. "He's the one who showed up and dumped the Rod on my desk before vanishing. Mutou informed me of his death not long after. End of the story."

Mokuba nodded thoughtfully.

"Hmm… what… what does it do?" asked Neville almost timidly. He waved the rod feebly when everybody turned to look at him, his cheeks reddening.

"Do?" scoffed Kaiba incredulously. "Absolutely nothing. It's a piece of silver, boy, what do you expect it to do? Even as a conductor it's pretty useless."

"It's decorative," pointed out Mokuba mildly. Terry could have sworn he was fighting not to laugh.

Mr. Kaiba glared at him: "Its aesthetical value is a matter of opinion, but if you want to call it a function, suit yourself."

Then he glowered at Neville: "The point is that it represents your victory. It is a symbol of your having achieved the goal of being number one. You should be proud of holding it for that alone. Forget all that hocus pocus nonsense you've been fed, it has no place in Gaming" he spat disdainfully. "Too many morons are enamoured of that idiocy as it is!"

Neville and Potter automatically grabbed one of Malfoy's arms each, preventing the blond from going for his wand. Bereft of the option of placing a few well-aimed burning hexes where they'd count, the Slytherin just hissed and sputtered at them and the world in general.

"I still don't understand why you're even here if you think this is all idiotic!" interjected Potter, annoyed – though whether at Mr. Kaiba's maddening mind-set or Malfoy's bothersome attitude was debatable.

Mr. Kaiba sniffed: "I only agreed to help out because Mutou insisted and unfortunately, I owed him. And it's none of your business anyway. Go play with your hocus-pocus if you like it so much, _I_ have business to attend to!"

He whirled sharply, his lengthy white coat swirling as dramatically as Snape's cloak, and stalked away.

He stopped after just a few steps, turned his head a little and called over his shoulder: "We're done here, Mokuba. Let's go before Roland manages to make an even bigger mess of things!..."

His tone was as sharp and cold as when he was talking to them, but Terry noticed a slight softening of his sharp features, betraying the fact that his little brother at least had bypassed the icy barrier he'd erected between himself and the world.

Mokuba smiled fondly at his brother stalking off and turned quickly to the five wizards: "Listen, I don't know much, but according to Yugi, the Millennium Rod granted the holder the power of bending the wills of others through mind control, and also let its user telepathically communicate with their brainwashed 'servants'. That last one I can attest to, by the way. I don't know what this lesser version might do, though. Maybe nothing, since Setho doesn't believe in it… magic can be tricky like that. I guess… you'll have to find out yourself!"

He smiled apologetically and set off after his brother with a hurried "Ja ne!"

"Does that mean 'bye', do you think?" asked Potter randomly after a while.

They shrugged.

* * *

><p><em>AN:__ Thus Part Five is done! Hope you liked it. I have an exam coming up so I'm going to take a break from writing until next week or so. See you! Luna_


	45. Fortyfive

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this._

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: Just a little something to tie you all over until I can go back to write the actual Part Six!  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_Mokuba smiled fondly at his brother stalking off; he smiled apologetically at the five wizards and set off after his brother with a hurried "Ja ne!"_

* * *

><p>There was a long silence after the two Kaibas disappeared. Each of them was lost in his or her own thoughts. No-one was in any hurry to go on.<p>

Terry peered at the door they were most likely supposed to go through. He sighed.

All of a sudden he was feeling immensely tired, as if a weighty coat had been dumped on his shoulders, heavy and stifling.

This crazy adventure had been a never-stopping rollercoaster of adrenaline-filled moments, made only worse by their continually tense interactions. He just wasn't up to face anything more right now.

Wearily, he closed his eyes and blew out another sigh, letting his head fall back and then to the side, slowly, to stretch his stiff neck a little.

"Are we moving on or what?" Malfoy's acrimonious voice cut through the atmosphere like a razor.

Terry sighed again, opening his eyes with bleary resignation. Here they went again...

However, the Gryffindors looked as reluctant to 'go on' as he felt.

"How about we just hang around in here a little bit more?" asked Potter finally, trying and failing to sound cheerful.

Terry raised his eyebrows, glancing around sceptically. As good as taking a break sounded, the place was making him nervous. And it was practically empty, besides.

"Are you insane?" Malfoy's tone was a perfect blending of incredulity and contempt. "I know you've never had much brains to begin with, Potter, but what little you had must have been seriously addled as of late if you're seriously suggesting..."

"We've been at this for hours!" cut him off Potter, his voice already raised in irritation. "I for one would like to take a break."

Malfoy's voice rose to match Potter's instantly: "We're trapped Salazar knows where, at the mercy of insane idiots who can't even screen their own employees enough to realize they're _muggles, _and _stupidly blind_ ones at that, we don't know what absurd stuff is likely to happen to us and if we'll ever make it out of this ridiculous dungeon, we have no idea how we got here and more importantly, how we'll ever be able to go back, basically our only hope is to survive enough to get to the bottom of this crazy mess, which we really ought to do as soon as possible if we want to escape with some shred of sanity if not dignity, and you want to _take a break?"_

For once, his tone was too incredulous to sound properly scathing.

"I'm with Harry," interjected Hermione with a disdainful sniff. "We're all dead tired, and-"

"Of course you agree with the moron, you..."

"I wouldn't mind a pause either," said Terry over whatever insult Malfoy was clearly gearing up to spit, "but, really, here doesn't exactly strike me as the best of places, there isn't even anywhere to sit or..."

Malfoy shot him a look of pure contempt: "For goodness' sake, Boot! Are you a wizard or not? Transfigure yourself a chair if you want to sit!"

Annoyed at the blond for his tone and at himself for not thinking of it, Terry snapped back: "So now you want to stay?"

"Ehi, come have a look!" came Neville's voice out of the blue. "This locker is full of stuff!"

Derailed from the rapidly heating argument, they turned to gape at the tall boy, who was crouched in front of the incongruous locker and rummaging in the lower shelves.

After a long moment, Potter said weakly: "Anything to eat, by chance?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," replied Neville coming up with a handful of brightly coloured boxed. "At least, I think so," he added as an afterthought. "I mean... these are food, right?" he held them up for everybody to see.

There was quite a collection of very colourful boxes covered in huge, cartoon-like Japanese writings and cute little manga-style characters all over. A closer examination offered minuscule listing of the ingredients in several languages, from which they gathered the stuff inside the boxes had names like _botamochi_ (which apparently was made from rice, red beans and a lot of sugar), _kappa_ _ebisen_ (which turned out to be basically french fries, even though the box claimed them to be made of shrimps) and _Saku Saku Panda_ (cookies filled with sweet chocolate).

"Don't they have any sugar-free snacks?" exclaimed Hermione in dismay. "And no, that fried stuff doesn't count. Merlin knows what it would do to my liver!"

Potter rolled his eyes: "Food is food, Hermione."

"Not when it's junk food it's not!" she sniffed.

Terry shared a look with Potter, then they both shrugged and ripped in a different box – Terry's was bright red with fat little pandas jumping among huge green and pink ideograms and produced little packages of crunchy, panda-shaped biscuits the size of a fingernail, filled with delicious chocolate. And possibly some addictive secret ingredient, because it was quite impossible to stop once you'd started eating some!

Hermione huffed. "What else is in there?" she asked Neville, who was sitting cross-legged now, with his ugly Rod slated across his lap and munching on the contents of a yellow cardboard box with purple stripes, that seemed to be filled with soft, chew candy.

"Wait, are you... eating the paper too?" asked Potter, barely holding a laugh in.

"It's tasty!" protested Neville.

"It's plastic!" retorted Hermione, rather horrified.

"Nuh-uh. It says here it's rice paper," assured Neville, waving the box haphazardly. "It just _looks_ like plastic, but when you put it in your mouth it dissolves like flour. Lemon-orange flavored flour, to be precise."

Terry made a face. "If you say so."

Potter braced himself on Neville's broad shoulders to peer into the locker over his bent head.

"You know, Harry, you could have asked me to move," pointed out the brown-haired boy amusedly.

"Where's the fun in that?" grinned Potter, tottering in his effort not to stamp on his friend. "Oh, hey, there are games in here too!"

"Great, wow, just what we need, _more_ absurd games!" exclaimed Hermione throwing her arms in the air.

Potter fished a box out, narrowly missing Neville's head, and said cheerfully: "They don't seem to be absurd, Hermione. In fact, they look like perfectly normal, perfectly sensible board games!"

He showed off what he'd picked: _"Monopoly?"_ asked Terry incredulously. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"Oh, come on!" cajoled Harry. "I've never played at this."

"Ah!" nodded Terry, understandingly, "that explains a lot."

"And just what do you mean by that?" pouted Harry.

"Only that if you had played, you'd know that it is just about the most boring game ever invented!"

"Oh, I don't know," muttered Hermione. "It's not that bad, really, when compared with Senet, or Snakes and Ladder, or Frustration!"

"Well, point," admitted Terry reluctantly.

"Here's a set for Senet, whatever that is," chimed in Neville cheerfully. He'd scooted back a little and turned so as to fish the boxes out more easily and was cheerfully sorting through them. "And Reversi, Stratego, Mehen, Liubo, Oware... wow, there isn't a single one I've heard of before!"

He looked genuinely impressed.

"Here's one: chinese checkers," said Potter.

"You know how to play?" asked Neville sceptically.

"Well, no, but how different can it be from standard checkers?"

"Judging from the picture on the box, a lot," said Terry dryly, because the six-points star covered with little holes and the coloured marbles on it looked nothing like a checkers board and pieces.

Hermione bypassed Potter to look for herself: "Hey, what about this?"

She held out a dark red box with the name of the game in italic script and Potter and Terry reacted instantly: "No."

Hermione pouted and Neville looked confused: "Hum, why not?"

"You want to play Scrabble against Hermione?" asked Harry incredulously. "Wait, you don't know what Scrabble is, do you?"

Neville shook his head mutely.

"It's a word game where you score points by forming words from individual lettered tiles, sort of like in a crossword," explained Terry succinctly.

Neville got the point instantly: "Right. Not with Hermione around. Got it."

"You're mean!" she mock-sniffed.

"It's just self-preservation, my friend. Who would play a word game with a walking dictionary?" Potter winked at her, his grin taking the sting off his teasing.

Hermione rolled her eyes and let it drop. "What about a card game? I see a Rummy deck."

"What's that?" asked Potter and Neville simultaneously.

"Right," Terry sighed. "I highly doubt we'll find a card game we all know how to play, except for Go Fish, and let's face it, resorting to _that_ is just sad."

"Wait," said Potter suddenly, "wait. We're really doing this? I mean, are we seriously wanting to take a break here and play a board game?"

They looked at each other.

"Yup," nodded Neville.

"Sounds fun to me," shrugged Terry. It sounded half-crazy and half-ridiculous too, but he wasn't going to voice this. He needed a break, damn it!

"I think we all agree," smiled Hermione. "Well, except for Malfoy."

They shot a glance at the blond, who'd gone off in a huff a while ago and was now glaring holes in all of them and the floor alternatively.

They looked at each other again. And shrugged. If he wanted to be a spoilsport, he could be one off in a corner by himself!

"Alright," said Potter smiling. "Then I have the perfect game."

* * *

><p><em>AN 2:__ Completely random, I know. Anyway! I'm taking bets about what game they're going to play! As a hint, it's a card game after all. Luna_


	46. Fortysix

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this. In particular, Muchkin is the property of Steve Jackson Games!  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_"Alright," said Potter smiling. "We're really doing this? Taking a break here and playing a board game? Then I have the perfect one."_

* * *

><p>Harry was holding up a small, peach coloured box starring a short, squat cartoon 'hero' with a horned colander-helmet, big teeth, an even bigger sword, an absolutely huge hammer and a power saw. And pink trainers.<p>

Out of habit, Terry read the cover aloud: "Munchkin. Kill the Monsters. Steal the Treasure. Stab your Buddy. Game design by Steve Jackson. Illustrated by John Kovalic."

Grinning, Potter flipped the box over, so that Terry could read the back too: "Go down into the dungeon. Kill everything you meet. Backstab your friends and steal their stuff. Grab the treasure and run. Admit it. You love it."

"Harry," interrupted Hermione in a carefully controlled tone. "_Harry_."

The green-eyed teen's grin just grew wider.

"Hundreds of thousands of copies sold!" went on Terry. "Millions and millions of monsters slain! Munchkin captures the essence of the dungeon experience with none of that stupid roleplaying stuff." He stopped. "No- _seriously_? Potter, I never thought I'd say this, but maybe Malfoy has a point about your sanity, if nothing else..."

The Gryffindor ignored him and turned the box over again, reading aloud himself: "You and your friends compete to kill monsters and grab magic items. And what magic items! Don the Horny Helmet and the Boots of Butt-Kicking. Wield the Staff of Napalm or maybe the Chainsaw of Bloody Dismemberment!"

"Oh, for the love of...!" huffed Hermione.

Potter looked up at them, mischief in his every feature: "Try and tell me you don't want a Chainsaw of Bloody Dismemberment. Go on, I dare you!" he laughed.

Terry opened his mouth to say just so, but he had to stop as he realized that a part of his mind – a small, insignificant part, of course – was liking the sound of 'Boot's Boots of Butt-Kicking'. He could even imagine the wicked-looking spikes they were bound to have on their points. And really. You couldn't go around with stuff like that and not wield something adequately matching. Like that Walking Sword of Doom in the little picture to the side.

Hermione rubbed her forehead: "Harry. I hate to tell you, really, but this looks like the kind of flimsy humour that-"

"Look at the pictures! They're amazing. Look!" he opened the box and flipped a random card: it was titled 'Flaming Poison Potion' and it depicted a very convincing short, bald wizard, complete with pointy, star-covered hat, running through so fast he was leaving his beard behind in an effort to get rid of a grenade-like black vial. With flames coming out of it. And a skull-and-crossed-bones 'danger-of-death' symbol.

"Poor bloke must have messed up his potion. Oh, how I feel for him!" muttered Neville jokingly.

"Oh, if it could but happen to Snape..." murmured Potter dreamily.

"_Harry_! That's horrible," sniffed Hermione. "Besides, great art doesn't change the fact that it sounds like a completely pointless game and-"

"Oh, come on! It sounds brilliant!" enthused Potter. "It's bound to be funny, it says so right here!" he pointed to the lower end of the publisher's description: "Fast and silly, Munchkin can reduce any roleplaying group to hysteria."

"Harry, that's a promo, they would say anything..." tried Hermione. "Besides we're not a roleplaying group!"

"That's kind of debatable," muttered Terry, who had some summer experience with that kind of games. "We sure have the dungeon part down pat. And the 'crazy Dungeon Master with absurd plot ideas' one too." It was just a little more _real_ than standard, that was all.

"Maybe, but don't you think we've had enough of dungeons for now?" attempted Neville, though he was fighting chuckles. "I thought the point was taking a break from this stuff..."

Potter paid them no mind: "And, while they're laughing, you can steal their stuff," he went on reading.

There was a long silence.

Then Terry and Neville looked at each other and burst out guffawing.

"None of us knows how to play!" tried Hermione, with the look of someone who's fighting a losing battle and knows it.

"So we all start out on an even footing!" replied Potter with a bright smile. "Plus the rules are pretty clear. And funny, too," he entreated. "And it's all about player interaction, so it's _bound_ to be fun!"

"Can't we try Uno instead? It's fast, easy, and has a lot of interacting!..."

Potter pouted.

Hermione glowered. Then sighed.

Terry and Neville exchanged helpless looks.

"Munchkin?" Terry asked, resigned.

"Munchkin," Neville sighed.

As it turned out, however, Potter's idea was absolutely brilliant. The rules _were_ easy, the pictures and texts hilarious, and it took them no time at all to get their interactions to new and unexplored heights of nonsense. And the rhythm of it all went well with munching sweets, too.

Soon they were lost in the surprisingly funny card game, kicking dungeon doors open (that is, flipping a card with a door on the back from the proper deck) and dealing with the various monsters, traps and the sundry thingies it threw at them. Or laughing themselves silly at the descriptions. And effects. A Chicken on the Head, really!...

Halfway through the game Terry the Warrior with a Bad-Ass Bandana had the misfortune to be trapped on a doorstep by a Wannabe Vampire and not knowing any clerical 'booga-booga', he was forced to listen to him talk about his Very Cool Character for three hours – and _of course,_ Potter offered to interpret the wretched creature... Terry had to promise Hermione to build her a monument so that she exerted her authority to turn his sentence into a three-_minutes_ happening... good thing he didn't specify how big the monument had to be, too... his tie was really collecting experience with being transfigured into all sorts of stuff.

Then Elvish Princeling Potter started offering help to all and sundry, scaring monsters into flight with his Very Impressive Title, until they figured out he was stealing away with a bonus level for himself every time, the jerk... just because Elves supposedly prized generosity... all those Oh-no!-it's-a-random-encounter! Cards served him right! Especially the Duck of Doom!

Neville the Halfling Thief managed to collect an astounding amount of Treasures while they weren't looking, only to sell them all at double their price and buy himself as many levels as the others had painstakingly earned by throwing improbable bonuses at even more improbable fiends... then again, when you have to use a Footstool to reach the monster you're supposed to defeat... yeah, Terry could see the value in going the trader's way.

It was Hermione the ½ Breed Dwarf Cleric who took the cake, however, when she entered a glaring contest with a Plutonium Dragon, brandishing her Cheese Grater of Peace and a showy collection of veritably odd Enhancements and finally tipping the scales in her favour by fishing out of her Portable Hole... "A _what_?"

"A Swiss Halberd," she repeated matter-of-factly. Then went on in an inspired imitation of a promo-girl: "A very versatile two-handed pole weapon consisting of an axe blade topped with a spike mounted on a long shaft and with a hook or thorn on the back side of the axe blade for grappling, as well as various useful tools stowed inside the shaft through a pivot point mechanism, such as screwdrivers, can openers, tweezers, corkscrews, toothpicks, scissors, fish scalers, sawblades..."

By the time she got to 'ballpoint pens' and 'nail files', they were all laughing so hard they had troubles breathing.


	47. Fortyseven

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this. In particular, Muchkin is the property of Steve Jackson Games!  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_By the end of the game, they were all laughing so hard they had troubles breathing._

* * *

><p>The fun was exactly what they'd needed. Terry was still bone tired, not to mention sore, and rather inclined to just curl up somewhere for a nap, but he no longer felt weary and depressed.<p>

A lot more relaxed and still occasionally guffawing, the four friends packed up the game and the rather amazing amount of empty boxes and discarded wrappings they'd accumulated "munching during Munchkin" - as Potter quipped, making them all break into laughter again.

They stuffed everything haphazardly into the locker, which Hermione had to use a _Colloportus_ on because it wouldn't close and no-one had any patience for putting things inside in some sort of order to get them to fit behind the metal door.

Then by general consensus, they dragged themselves in a corner, which Hermione swapped with a couple well-placed _Scourgify _spells, before transfiguring their cloaks into mattresses and covers.

"We should probably arrange some guard turns..." said Potter sleepily.

"Just as long as mine's not the first," mumbled Terry, collapsing on the bumpy mattress.

There was no answer and he opened one eye blearily, trying to figure out what was going on. Had they all dropped off already? That was fast...!

But no, they were very much awake still; Hermione and Potter seemed to be engaged in an argument made up entirely of glances.

Terry watched them fascinated.

Hermione's expression was slightly pleading. Potter scowled. She gave him a flat look. He shrugged. She didn't relent. He closed his eyes wearily. Opened them again and gave her a very pointed glance. She raised her eyebrows in confusion. Potter darted his gaze to where Malfoy was glowering at them nearby. She followed his eyes briefly, then looked at him, at once blank and expectant. Potter raised an eyebrow, as if to show a point. It was her turn to scowl.

Terry was mesmerized. It was like watching a movie in a foreign language. Without subtitles.

Now they were glaring at each other, not in a mean way, but merely challenging.

What the hell was that all about?

Hermione suddenly raised her chin in a haughty manner, flicking her hair with faked nonchalance. Potter's lips twitched in a grin and his gaze turned halfway between exasperated and rueful. They both turned to glance at Malfoy, who was now muttering to himself and kicking the small chippings on the stone floor in a bored manner. Then they looked at each other again.

Potter closed his eyes again, his whole posture of exaggerated resignation. Hermione was smug and apologetic and amused all at once.

The green-eyed boy sighed exaggeratedly and scooped up a couple pebbles, bouncing them lightly on his palm. He shot a put upon look at his best friend. She smiled warmly and a bit mischievously at him.

Potter rolled his eyes and threw a little pebble at Malfoy, who predictably, glared at him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Potter!" the blond growled, marching up to his declared rival.

Hermione busied herself with arranging her transfigured covers, for all appearances ignoring the two boys. Terry watched the proceedings with interest, and not a small amount of confusion.

Potter stood braced and confident, arms crossed and smirking. Mockingly, he taunted the annoyed blond: "Going to bed on an empty stomach, Malfoy? Not very Slytherin of you, I dare say. Shouldn't you be taking advantage of the resources available to conserve your strength?"

The sarcasm was so heavy in his voice it almost covered the sensibility of the objection. "More and more I find myself wondering how you wormed your way into the Snake Pit..."

"Why, you!..." yelled Malfoy, offended.

Terry blinked in wonder: had those two been arguing about Malfoy's _dinner_? Or, lack thereof, as it were?

Be that as it may, the deliberately taunting tone sorted the desired effect. After a quick and heated exchange of insults, the blond stalked off on his own with a last, spat "Leave me alone!" but Terry noticed that he grabbed some snacks and water on the way, all the while glaring burningly at Potter.

"Oh, but how can we go on without your scintillating company?" muttered the green-eyed teen sarcastically, but in a very low voice.

Hermione gave him a small, knowing smile, as she snuggled on her makeshift cot. Potter made a face at her, but there was an undercurrent of smugness in his countenance.

Terry stared at both in disbelief, too tired to wrap his mind around the weird notion of Potter tricking Malfoy out of concern for his well-being.

Oh, well.

He yawned, and curled up under his own impromptu quilt.

He was so tired he didn't even bother waking up when the transfiguration on his makeshift cot vanished. He just mumbled an incoherent protest against the sudden hard bed and turned over, snuggling into his coat against the cold, and slept on.

* * *

><p><em><em><em><span>AN: Interlude's over! When they wake up, they'll have to go on - but I'm afraid that will take a while, as I'm unlikely to have much free time over the next few days. Luna  
><em>__


	48. Fortyeight

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_He was so tired he didn't even bother waking up when the transfiguration on his makeshift cot vanished. He just mumbled an incoherent protest against the sudden hard bed and turned over, snuggling into his coat against the cold, and slept on._

* * *

><p>It was beyond hard to tell the time at a glance underground, so Terry couldn't have said if it was day or night when he woke up with a huge yawn.<p>

It seemed cool to say that he woke up at dawn, though, so he let his sleep-addled brain go with that. He had more important worries anyway, like his stomach clamouring for breakfast.

He blinked his eyes blearily.

They had been forced to sleep with the lights on, because they had no idea how to turn the glaring off, but judging from his pounding headache, it hadn't been the best idea. Or maybe it was due to the hard floor. Or the cold. Or the soreness and bruises from the madness they'd gone through the day before. Or...

Terry groaned and firmly told himself to shut up.

He rubbed his hands over his face and ran them through his short hair a couple times. It probably wasn't doing any good for his appearance, but it made him feel slightly better. His vague gaze followed the descent of the hand he dropped to the side until it fell on the rumpled blue tie that had been a pillow for part of the night. And quite a lot of other things the day before. He felt absurdly happy to clasp it. Comforting like a teddy-bear.

Right.

He needed to wake up before he went completely over the edge of reasonableness.

Abruptly, he realized that he'd been staring unseeingly for a while. And that what he'd been staring at was, by the looks of it, Potter and Malfoy arguing. Silently.

Wow, those two really had the whole drive-each-other-up-the-wall-in-every-circumstance thing down to an art form.

With a deep sigh, he got up stiffly from the bungled and rumpled amass that was his robe and made his way unsteadily over to where Hermione was... cooking something.

He blinked in surprise.

Then his mind caught up with him. Right, right... they were wizards and witches. Nothing altogether strange with a girl holding a probably transfigured teakettle over a definitely conjured blue flame. Perfectly sensible to just enjoy the results of her magic. A well-made cup of hot tea can warm the heart and soul even in the direst circumstances. Though where she'd found the tea bags was a mystery...

He sank to her side with a slurred "Mornin'" and just stared bleary-eyed at the mesmerizing dance of the little blue flame. He didn't even react when Potter plopped down beside him, uncaring what the first spat of the day had been about.

After he'd eagerly downed the first, wonderful, perfumed sip from the cup he'd extracted from his trusty tie and was now cradling jealously in his hands, relishing its warmth, a clearer thought made his way insistently to the front of his mind.

"Ehi, wait a sec. Weren't we supposed to stand guard in turns?" he asked confused. He was pretty sure he hadn't been called upon for such a duty. Or had he? Surely he hadn't just fallen asleep on his watch?

"Hermione's brilliant," shrugged Potter, as if it explained everything, which Terry supposed could be considered reassuring, except that a more thorough explanation wouldn't have gone amiss in his book.

"Yeah?" he asked leadingly.

"I just thought it was the smartest thing to do," she said, her cheeks reddening a little. "I mean, we were all tired, and it's not like it's really that complex, merely complicated, after all, but if one pays sufficient attention to how it's all put together, then it is quite effective."

"Like I said," nodded Potter, "she's brilliant."

Glaring, Terry decided that he was not in the mood to play guess games this early: "I must really ask you to be a little more obscure on the matter," he said sarcastically. "Why, someone might even understand what you're saying!"

They started, then laughed sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, Terry," said Hermione apologetically. "We're talking about the perimeter alert I put up before falling asleep."

"Perimeter alert?" he asked, interested.

He knew the concept from the muggle world, of a device that let people know when someone entered their property by making it so that anyone who crossed a strategically disposed beam would trigger an alarm, siren or strobe light. He supposed it stood to reason that there would be a magical equivalent. But where had Hermione found the right spell? Or had she come up with it on her own?

The interesting field of research did wonders to wake him up and he plied the smart girl with questions. He gaped at her admission that she'd _modified_ an existing charm. An _Herbology_ one at that!

"It's amazing, isn't it?" nodded Neville knowingly. "I must have used that charm a thousand times to protect my flowerbeds in the greenhouses... never in a million years would I have dreamt of using it out of context, though," he chuckled.

"Oh, well, it wasn't anything much!" the girl told them with faintly reddened cheeks. "I just thought, if it can be used to jolt trespassers in warning around flowerbeds, why not around our cots?"

"But how did you twist it so that it would jolt _us _awake instead?"

"I didn't," she explained matter-of-factly. "I just made it so that it would jolt _both_ the trespassers _and_ us-"

"Which is good, because it gives them that moment of surprise that lets us clear off our disorientation," butted in Potter knowledgeably.

"...by linking our socks to the edge I set as perimeter for the spell through a slightly altered Protean Charm," finished Hermione easily.

Terry shook his head in mute wonder, goggling at the casual mention of a _slightly altered_ _N.E.W.T.-level_ charm tossed out like it was routine.

"I have to ask, though, why socks?" was Neville's amused contribution.

Hermione just blushed and ducked her head embarrassed.

"I'm so going to use it against the Twins," was Potter blithesome comment. "No more being caught off guard by nightly pranks!"

A cloud of freezing bad mood materialized over their makeshift campfire, throwing a shadow over the still brightly dancing blue flame, and they glanced up uncomfortably to see a scowling pale Slytherin watch them contemptuously.

He had dark circles under his eyes and the grumpy air of someone who was too tired even to sleep.

"If you don't get moving within the next five minutes, I'm going on alone," he said acidly and then he was gone, off to sulk by the double doors and glare a hole in the wall.

"Charming," muttered Potter disgustedly, but he made an effort to pick himself up.


	49. Fortynine

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_"If you don't get moving within the next five minutes, I'm going on alone," Malfoy said acidly and then he was gone, off to sulk by the double doors and glare a hole in the wall._

_"Charming," muttered Potter disgustedly, but he made an effort to pick himself up._

* * *

><p>Unless you were a trained Marine, however, packing up an overnight camp was no quick task, not even when said camp was basically made of rumpled robes you were supposed to put on and a bit of knick-knacks found in a locker that really had no sensible reason to be where it was.<p>

Although, it was a blessing it was there, if nothing else because that was where Hermione had got the teabags from, Terry discovered.

She also had no qualms taking a small box out of it and slipping it into her outer pocket, where it barely fit. She smirked at Terry's raised eyebrows: "Just a little something for our next break. I bet Harry will love it..."

"I thought we'd eaten anything edible in there," said Terry, who hadn't been too pleased to find out they'd been stupid enough not to plan for breakfast in advance. They'd made the best of a bad bargain and weren't going to mention their rumbling stomachs, but...

"It's not food," Hermione shook her head apologetically and Terry slumped, disappointed. "It's a card game."

"What?" Terry yelped, flabbergasted and amused. "Stealing, Miss Granger?" he mocked her. "Tsk-tsk!"

She rolled her eyes, fighting not to blush: "It's not stealing! I'm going to give it back to the first opponent we find... but they left them here for us and... It's not stealing, per se, just... I'm just _borrowing..."_

Terry chuckled good-naturedly: "Relax, honestly! I was just teasing you!"

"Teasing her about what?" asked Potter nosily, making Terry jump two feet high with the way he'd sneaked up to them unnoticed.

"Don't _do _that!" he burst out, a hand to his racing heart. "Jerk!"

"What?" asked Potter with perfect confusion.

Terry looked at him bewildered: "Huh?"

"Jerk what?"

"Wha...?" Terry blinked, feeling rather lost. "Don't you know the meaning of 'jerk', Potter?" he asked, wondering if the Gryffindor was pulling his leg.

"Sure," said Potter easily. "To pull."

Terry opened his mouth, caught the mischievous glint in Potter's eyes and closed it again, glowering.

"Come on, let's go!" called Hermione in long-suffering tones.

It turned out that the Slytherin's ultimatum hadn't been a bluff. When they gathered before the mighty set of doors, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, they could spy a wooden panel dangling from the ceiling in the corridor beyond, faintly lit by orange candles. It was a roughly cut signal, the kind Terry was used to seeing in cartoons, and odd-shaped balloon letters were painted on it in purple. The paint had dripped in a couple corners, staining the wood below the writing.

Walking confidently, Potter moved under it, tilting his head to read it: "Tongue Twisters Turns."

"Tongue Twisters?" asked Neville, perplexed. "Are we going to get hexed down this corridor?"

They looked at him in puzzlement.

"What do you mean, Neville?" asked Hermione.

The boy didn't seem to understand their confusion. "Well, the tongue-tying charms are all classed as hexes, aren't they? Though I don't know why they would want to tie our tongues, unless we're going to meet someone who we aren't supposed to talk about all this to?"

Terry and Hermione burst out laughing: "Oh, Neville, no! Tongue-twisters are phrases that are designed to be difficult to articulate properly," said the girl.

"Like, _how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? He would chuck as much wood as a woodchuck would if a woodchuck could chuck wood," _said Terry very fast, proud that he got it all out perfectly. He'd practised quite a lot one summer when he was young, after his brother had made fun of him for getting his tongue, very predictably, twisted.

"_If one doctor doctors another doctor, does the doctor who doctors the doctor doctor the doctor the way the doctor he is doctoring doctors? Or does he doctor the doctor the way the doctor who doctors doctors?_" fired off Hermione immediately, a competitive glint in her eyes.

"Trust her to make it a logic nightmare as well as absurd to say," muttered Potter rather fondly.

Terry sniffed. He could do it, too! "_Is sounding by sound a sound method of sounding sounds?_"

Potter groaned.

"_How many boards could the Mongols hoard if the Mongol hordes got bored?" _volleyed Hermione back with a grin, and then she went on immediately: "_If a sailor went to sea to see what he could see, what could he see besides the sea?_"

Terry opened his mouth, but was cut off.

"_If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked?_"

Everybody turned to stare at Potter.

"What?" he huffed, crossing his arms. "Am I the only one not allowed to have some fun?"

"By all means, Harry," giggled Hermione, motioning him to continue.

"No, no! I know when I'm not wanted!" He turned his nose in the air, affecting being offended, but muttered to Neville as an aside: "This is the only one I can remember. Learned in elementary school, I'll have you know," he said mock-smugly.

Terry stifled his laughter. Neville didn't bother.

"Anyway, they're used as word games because they can be quite humorous when they are mispronounced," Hermione finished her explanation.

Neville blinked. "Oh!"

"Wait," said Potter frowning unhappily. "How do you know that? I mean," he went on impatiently before anyone could answer, "how do you know that Neville isn't right and that this," he gestured to the dangling signal, "indicates _muggle_ tongue-twisters?"

Terry and Hermione shared an embarrassed glance. "Huh... I suppose we don't," they admitted.

"But it makes more sense that we're to face another game and not just a hex," contributed Neville.

"Oh, huh, good point," accepted Potter. "Shall we go, then?"

A handful of steps down the corridor, they nearly missed the script on the right wall, spidery and narrow writings in purple ink on the bare rock.

_Amidst the mists and coldest frosts,  
>With stoutest wrists and loudest boasts,<br>He thrusts his fist against the posts  
>And still insists he sees the ghosts. <em>

"How lovely," muttered Potter. "Sense it makes... _zero."_

"They don't necessarily have to make sense, Harry," said Hermione patiently.

A little further, they found another, this time on the left wall.

_When a night's light, like tonight's light,  
>You've no need to light a night-light<br>For a night-light's light's a slight light,  
>So it's really not quite right to light it.<em>

And then the corridor ended.


	50. Fifty

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_And then the corridor ended._

* * *

><p>There was no warning, no doors, no outline of openings or mechanisms, no triggers, nothing. The corridor terminated in a cul-de-sac, stone walls closing seamlessly. Like a trap.<p>

"Did we miss a turn?" asked Hermione uncertainly.

They retraced their steps, but they found nothing except the two tongue-twisters written on the walls. The double doors they'd entered from had, not unexpectedly, closed after them and looked quite impenetrable.

"Great, just great. Trapped in an empty corridor... just what I always wished for!" moaned Potter irritably.

They milled about a little while, running their hands on the walls, poking and prodding randomly, trying to figure out where to go, but soon grew frustrated.

"I can't believe this!" grumbled Terry. "We're trapped!"

"Let's not lose our calm," recommended Neville, who was cutting a rather imposing figure with his ugly silver Rod held firmly before him. "I'm sure there's a way out. We just need to find it."

"And what if there isn't one?" asked Terry snidely. An empty stomach wasn't doing any favours to his mood or disposition. "Maybe Malfoy was right, maybe these Shadow Gamers are all wackos and trapping us here to die of boredom and stravation is their idea of fun."

"Malfoy!" exclaimed Potter with the tone of someone who's had an epiphany.

"Where?" asked Terry, turning quickly around. However the blond was nowhere to be seen.

"Malfoy's not here!" said Potter, looking at them expectantly.

"You're just now noticing?" asked Neville incredulously.

Potter waved impatiently: "No, no- oh! For pity's sake! What I mean is, if he's no longer here, he must have found a passage or something to get out!"

"Or something..." muttered Hermione, eyes unfocused.

"What are you thinking about?" Potter turned to her hopefully.

"This corridor is called 'Tongue Twisters Turns', right?" she reasoned out. "Well, did you see any turns at all?"

They blinked and glanced at the length of passageway before and behind them. It was perfectly straight.

"Clearly, we need to find an opening that turns either left or right. They only things besides rock walls and flooring here are the tongue-twisters..."

Terry caught on: "If we want to turn, we have to vocalize the tongue-twisters? That what you mean?"

She nodded: "Probably."

"Sounds like a plan," said Potter, seizing the suggestion. "So which one looks easier to say?"

Neville and Hermione shrugged, but Terry stopped them: "Wait, wait! I have an idea."

He fished his Ring out of his shirt and let it dangle before him, concentrating on the quickest way to reach the exit of this corridor. Its varying glow led them rather quickly to the first tongue-twister they'd encountered.

Slowly and carefully, minding his pronunciation, Potter read it aloud, making Terry shiver uncomfortably with the way his sibilants hissed through the air eerily.

Nothing happened.

"Hum," tried Terry, fidgeting awkwardly. "The game, with tongue-twisters, is usually to say them as quickly as possible without mistakes..."

Hermione nodded pensively: "It's probably got a time limit, you have to say it fast enough or it won't count."

Potter glared at her and she shrugged unrepentantly: "That's how I would set up this game."

The Gryffindor took a deep breath and prepared to try again. Terry fought the urge to beg him to let someone else do it, just so he wouldn't have to listen to the disconcerting hissing in his words again.

Potter blew out the verse in a mad rush, but stumbled on the _thrusts his fist_ part, cursed, tried again, didn't go further than _stoutest_, yelled in exasperation and said it again more slowly. This time he managed to say it all, but apparently it wasn't fast enough.

"You have to say it faster," said Hermione rather bossily.

Potter turned to her with an irritated scowl: "I would if I could, but I can't so I won't!"

Neville chuckled: "Getting into the spirit of things?"

"Huh?" asked Potter, derailed.

Terry realized how his little outburst sounded and chuckled as well.

"Oh, fine!" spat Potter, annoyed. "You do it, then, if you think you're any better!"

Neville shook his head quickly, backing away a step. Terry shrugged: "Alright."

He read the four lines carefully a couple times, then took a deep breath and spat it all out as hurriedly as he could manage. It took him two tries, but then the stone upon which the tongue-twister was inscribed sank noiselessly into the floor, baring a rough opening behind it.

Further, the corridor did indeed turn, in a slow arc to their left. The left gallery-like stone wall sported small rectangular alcoves, regularly spaced. Each was covered by a fluttering light curtain and on the nearest ones, they could spot neatly printed text.

Hermione approached the closest alcove on the left.

"_Can you imagine an imaginary menagerie manager imagining managing an imaginary menagerie?_" she read aloud, only hesitating briefly here and there but pulling it off rather well.

"No," deadpanned Potter.

"_Can you deposit a dozen double damask dinner napkins on a desk?_" read Terry from where he'd moved to the next one, and then he grimaced because he felt like he was hammering his front teeth with his tongue rather unpleasantly, with all those 'k' and 'd' sounds.

"I suppose, if I had the napkins... and the desk..." pondered Potter, mock-seriously.

"What does double damask even mean?" wondered Neville, but he was ignored.

"Oh, this one's easier," said Hermione. "_Can you think of six thin sings... _a-uff!" she complained. "I got it wrong!"

"_Six thin things,"_ stressed Terry with a little smirk.

She poked her tongue at him.

"Ooh... look! Your poor tongue! It's all twisted!" he mocked, eyes dancing with mirth.

"You're impossible!" she huffed.

"_Can you think of six thin things and of six thick things too?_" enunciated Potter clearly. He looked rather pleased with himself, too.

"Yes, I can think of six thin things and of six thick things too," replied Neville without missing a beat.

The alcove walls sunk into the ground, baring a passage beyond the still fluttering see-through curtain.

They all groaned. "I can't believe this..."

They poked their heads in and groaned again when they saw the passage led back to the initial corridor.

They left it at that and chose to move along the arc instead, fairly ignoring the rest of the alcoves.

"Where has Malfoy gone off to, anyway?" complained Potter as they moved on. "Shouldn't we have caught up with him already?"

"Missing him?" taunted Terry, smirking.

Neville snorted incredulously.

Potter gave them both a dirty look: "You'll miss him too if it turns out we have to go back and look for the prick..."

"Oh-huh," frowned Terry, "hadn't thought of that..."

"There's a fork," announced Hermione, pointing somewhere before them.


	51. Fiftyone

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_"There's a fork," announced Hermione, pointing somewhere before them._

* * *

><p>The left corridor's wooden door bore an oval panel upon which was inscribed:<p>

_I thought a thought  
>But the thought I thought<br>Was not the thought  
>I thought I thought. <em>

The right one had a square panel and it read:

_Of all the felt I ever felt,  
>I never felt a piece of felt<br>Which felt as fine as that felt felt,  
>When first I felt that felt hat's felt. <em>

"They're equally bad," complained Potter.

"I think Malfoy went that way," commented Neville pointing to the left.

"What makes you say that?" frowned Hermione.

"Because the door is ajar."

"Oh!" said the girl, rosy-cheeked.

Terry, too, felt like blushing. It was pretty obvious, now that it had been pointed out to him.

"Hey, Terry," said Potter abruptly. "Can't you find that git with your trinket?"

Terry blinked at him, then nodded: "Probably."

But the Ring couldn't do much more than glow softly near the right door and dull by the other. "This is going to take some time," he sighed.

Since the door was already open, they went on unhindered and walked down a corridor that was the twin of the earlier one with the alcoves, except that it curved in a wide arc to the right.

Terry glanced distractedly at the alcoves, relatively sure that they didn't need to bother with them.

"Odd, though," commented Potter, who seemed more interested in the little rectangular spaces.

Terry heard some muttered comment from Hermione about curious cats getting themselves killed, but ignored her along with Potter. This corridor had already lost whatever appeal to him.

"What are you doing, Harry?" came Neville's voice from behind them as he and Hermione resolutely marched on.

"Would you look at this thing? It's like there's a protective bubble around this bowl of, well, they look like crisps, really," replied Potter, moving around one of the alcoves to look at it from every angle.

"So?"

"So, it's intriguing. Why would they protect crisps? What's so special about them?"

"Harry!" moaned Hermione exasperated, turning to glare at him impatiently.

"What? I'm just curious!" he protested.

"Precisely!" grumbled the girl.

"How can you be sure they're crisps?" asked Terry acidly. His empty stomach gave an unpleasant twist and he hurriedly added: "Mind, if they're really edible, then I'm all for getting them..."

"Ah-ha!" exclaimed Potter triumphantly, dusting off a little plaque on the lower end of the alcove. Then he cleared his throat and enunciated clearly: "_Crusty crisps which crackle and crunch_!"

The bubble in the alcove popped, allowing him to reach for the unfortunately small bowl. He sniffed one crisp and threw it happily into his mouth. It did crunch under his teeth.

"Honestly, Harry!" sighed Hermione.

He simply held out the bowl to her. She crossed her arms, huffing: "I don't want god-knows-how-old crisps so early in the morning!"

Harry brightened as he shrugged: "Suit yourself!"

"Your loss, our gain," piled it on Terry, reaching out for a fistful of crisps himself. Hey, he was hungry!

Neville shook his head when they held the bowl out to him: "No, thanks. Between unknown food left lying about in a magical environment by who knows who or with what intention and starvation, I choose to go hungry."

Potter and Terry stopped munching and stared, then looked at each other uncomfortably.

"Well," said Potter. "We've started already. Whatever's going to happen is going to happen regardless."

"Right," agreed Terry. "No point in letting it happen on an empty stomach." And he reached for more crisps.

Hermione shook her head disgustedly and wandered to check out the other alcoves.

"_Clean clams crammed in a cream can_," she read aloud, popping another protective bubble, but she was careful not to even touch the almost rusty-looking tin.

"This one's empty," called Neville from the last-but-one. "Maybe Malfoy got it."

"Ooh, look at these!" Terry's eyes sparkled at what was in the last alcove, enveloped in a green protective bubble: dark brown, almost mahogany, leather wristbands, a good three inches wide, with cool looking metal studs. "I want them," he declared, entranced, and quickly read the inscription aloud: "_Lesser leather never weathered wet-there-red_ – argh!" He stumbled on his own tongue mid-way through and sulked.

Neville took up the task, reading very slowly: "_Lesser leather never weathered wetter weather better_."

The insubstantial shield disappeared and Terry snatched the longed for items before anyone else could lay claim to them, smugly pleased. So much for his mother's stern refusal to buy him any!

"Boys and their toys," sighed Hermione long-sufferingly. "Now, can we go on? Please?"

"Here's the doorway," Potter waved them over.

The thin, narrow writings above the wooden door read: _What noise annoys a noisy oyster? _

Terry looked up from admiring the utter coolness of his new wristbands and sighed. "_A noisy noise annoys a noisy oyster_," he recited obediently. "Merlin, this is more bothersome than the Raven on one of his bad days..."

"The Raven?" asked Hermione, curiously.

"Hm? Oh, it's the guardian to Ravenclaw Tower," he explained. No need to get into details.

They were about to step through, when a soft cry from Neville made them twirl on the spot, wands out and ready.

The ugly Rod was glowing in Neville's hands, casting bluish-white eerie shadows on his glazed over eyes. The tall boy had a dazed look about him.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed in soft wonder.


	52. Fiftytwo

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begin<span>_:___

_They were about to step through, when a soft cry from Neville made them twirl on the spot, wands out and ready._

_The ugly Rod was glowing in Neville's hands, casting bluish-white eerie shadows on his glazed over eyes. The tall boy had a dazed look about him._

_"Whoa!" he exclaimed in soft wonder._

* * *

><p>"I can hear Malfoy!" Neville exclaimed, looking flabbergasted.<p>

The others frowned: "I don't hear a thing..."

"No! In my head!" shouted Neville, eyes wild.

They froze and then Potter said carefully: "O-kaay... now that is disturbing." Then he blinked, disconcerted, as the Rod's glow dulled and vanished under their eyes.

"Wait, wait. Do you mean that you can hear him, but his voice is so faint that it seems to be only in your head? Or that he's actually talking in your head? Like mind-speech or something?" asked Terry authoritatively, attempting to determine the scope of the phenomenon by a rational way.

"Mind-speech!" yelled Hermione and when everybody started and turned to her abruptly, she went on quickly: "Remember what Mr. Mokuba told us? About the power of the Millennium Rod? He said that it granted the holder the power of bending the wills of others through mind control, and also let its user telepathically communicate with their brainwashed 'servants'."

"How do you remember that so precisely?" asked Terry in wonder. _He_ had an excellent memory, but they'd only heard the explanation once and he had a strong suspicion that she had recited it verbatim!

"She remembers everything," assured him the other two Gryffindors matter-of-factly.

Hermione was going on as if she hadn't heard their comments: "Obviously, this is a lesser version, but like the Necklace and the Ring, it probably maintains some link with the original powers. Therefore it is not unthinkable that it allows the holder the faculty of mind-speech!"

"So, basically, Malfoy's talking to Neville through the power of the Rod?" clarified Potter.

Hermione started to nod but Neville cleared his throat: "I... don't think so. I mean," he went on hurriedly when they turned to him. "I don't think he's talking _to_ me. About me, rather. Hum. He's insulting me. In his head I think..."

"Excuse me?" blinked Hermione.

Neville went red in the face and lowered his head, mumbling: "He's... was... ranting about how I'm a useless slob and he's sure I'm the one who's holding us up and the reason he's having to wait... called me a brainless squib..." he swallowed.

"That git!" hissed Potter.

"Don't listen to him, Neville!" added Hermione, scowling.

"Then he went on with something about how even that Granger... ehm... m-muggleborn..." he shot an apologetic glance at Hermione and she rolled her eyes: "I can guess he used a rather ruder epithet. Don't worry, Neville. Go on!"

The tall boy shrugged: "That's it, really. The sound of his voice was already fading when he said your name and after that, it vanished. That's also when the Rod stopped glowing," he added conscientiously.

"So I was right!" crowed Hermione. "This is connected to the power of the Rod!"

"The voice faded when he said Hermione's name?" asked Terry, an idea forming into his mind. "When did it appear? Do you remember the first thing you heard?"

"I-I'm not sure..." said Neville wide-eyed. Memory was not exactly his forte. "I-I don't... it was something like 'useless Longbottom, fat slob that he is, I bet that'..."

He trailed off, wilting under Potter's furious gaze: "That... that..." the green-eyed boy seethed.

Terry was nodding thoughtfully to himself, his agile mind working out the mechanics of the strange phenomenon.

"Don't listen to him, Neville," insisted Hermione. "He's a git!"

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy!" said Potter forcefully. _"Any_ Malfoy. All of them together too, actually!"

Neville was slumping miserably, but he smiled at his friends a little, their indignation cheering him up. It's not like he didn't know Malfoy's opinion of him. There wasn't any need to give it any importance.

"Just ignore him!" advised Hermione dismissively.

"Not exactly easy when he's in my head," pointed out the tall Gryffindor dryly.

The girl faltered and Potter gave him a long, dark look: "I get you," he said Potter. "I totally get you."

Terry was reminded of what Potter had told them in Ryou's jungle: that he sometimes got to see what the Dark Lord was doing at the moment; that he had, in effect, a mind link to a dangerous psychopath.

"Anyway!" he said quickly, eager to change the topic. "I think I've figured it out."

He enjoyed their curious looks for a moment and then revealed: "Names are the key! It activated when Malfoy thought the name 'Longbottom' and, in a way, directed his thought-speech to Neville here... and it was interrupted when he thought of Hermione instead and started ranting at her!"

They pondered on this for a moment, then nodded. And Potter rounded on Neville, immediately making the logic leap: "Do it on purpose!"

"What?" asked Neville, startled.

"Think of Malfoy's name, then send him a mental message."

Terry and Hermione both snorted, then intercepted each other's gaze and guffawed.

"What, now?" exploded Potter, exasperated.

"Mental... message..." giggled Hermione.

Potter rolled his eyes: "You know what I mean, Hermione!" he complained. Then he smirked and gave a perfect imitation of her typical sniff: "Honestly!"

"All right, I'll try," said Neville, determined.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, curling his hands around the Rod firmly. Then his face scrunched up as if in an attempt at concentration... and then he cried out, surprised and alarmed, and let the Rod drop onto his own foot. He bit back a curse and a moan and quickly fetched it up, his nervousness nearly making him drop it again, then gave them all a very sheepish look: "Ehm... he's panicking." He shrugged, embarrassed and apologetic: "It kind of caught me off-guard, the way he started freaking out... loudly!" He winced.

Potter burst out laughing like a lunatic. "I'd be panicking too if your voice suddenly popped up in my head!" he sniggered madly. "Serves that git right..."

"Oh, dear," commented Hermione, not sounding _too_ worried. "We really should have tried it out with one of us first, so that you could get used to it..."

Neville smiled feebly: "I'm going to try again, ok?" he said almost calmly.

A moment passed, then another, then another. The tall Gryffindor didn't give any sign of being doing anything, inside or outside of his mind.

"Neville?" asked Terry, half-cautious half-perplexed.

"Oh, I'm just waiting until he runs down his usual insults. I imagine when he gets to the part about castrating my toad he'll be ready to listen, what do you think?" he asked Potter.

"Castr-" yelped Terry, half-chocking.

"Yeah, probably," nodded Potter seriously.

Gaping at the nonchalance, Terry mouthed his horror for a moment, then gave up. He was a mere Ravenclaw. The intricacies of habitual interactions between Lions and Snakes were quite beyond him, and frankly, he was thankful for it.

"All right," said Neville suddenly. "Here we go again!"


	53. Fiftythree

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begi<span>___n:_

_"All right," said Neville suddenly. "I'm going to try again, ok? Here we go..."_

* * *

><p>It was a fascinating thing, watching the expressions chasing each other on Neville's face as he went about his mental conversation with the missing member of their group.<p>

Annoyance made a lot of appearances, as did shame and irritation, and to Terry's slight surprise, amusement.

"That's so completely amazing," commented Hermione conversationally. "This Rod of his essentially makes him a mind reader. It's... mind-boggling!"

"N-no, it's not... I don't think that's it," replied Neville, momentarily distracted by his inner dialogue with Malfoy. "I can't 'read thoughts', or even emotions. I mean, I can get that he's angry, for example, but I get it from his choice of words and the 'tone' – it's really just like hearing a voice. And when he's not thinking directly at me, even if I concentrate, it's all just a kind of... I don't know... like wind rubbing on bark and with a lot of whooshes." He shrugged rather helplessly.

"White noise," muttered Hermione narrowing her eyes.

"So it's basically a magical handheld transceiver inside your mind?" asked Terry eagerly.

"A... what?" asked Neville and Potter together.

"A walkie-talkie," he explained with a small sigh.

"Oh!" nodded Potter, mock-knowledgeably.

"Err... yes, I suppose," admitted Neville.

Terry nodded thoughtfully: "The Rod probably activates some sort of channel, only on 'mind-waves' rather than radio-waves and you don't need a portable device – well, other than the Rod itself... it's quite amazing that anyone can receive your transmission, though, and that you can hear from anyone."

"Maybe he can't," suggested Hermione pensively. "Maybe it will only work with people he knows personally."

"Since he needs to 'address' the communication through use of a name, that's quite likely. However I wonder if someone he doesn't know but who knows him could send a message. Or if he could contact someone that he only knows by name..."

"_I'm_ curious about the possibility of a half-duplex channel of sorts – you know, only him transmitting, but with any number of listeners..."

"I wonder if the effect could be recreated..." wondered Terry, more and more intrigued. "If we could put together a set of spells that allowed us to simulate this outcome..."

"Oooh... imagine..." said Hermione excitedly. " We could perhaps enchant, I don't know... headphones..."

"...and distribute them to groups that need to keep in contact, just like walkie-talkies, only they wouldn't need to worry about speaking aloud... I bet Aurors and Hit-wizards would love it..."

"That would be amazing!" enthused Hermione. "Maybe if we take apart some-"

"Ah-ehm!" Neville cleared his throat loudly, making the two of them jump. "Not that this isn't fascinating..."

Potter snorted.

"...but shouldn't we, like... go on?" He gestured to the far end of the hallway.

"Come on!" Potter grabbed both Terry and Hermione by an arm and dragged them forward. "You'll have time to plot the revolution of magical means of personal communication later!"

"Malfoy says this is probably the last trait of the Corridor, from what he remembers, and to hurry up," Neville reported in a dutiful tone when they reached the next door.

"I bet he said more than that," grumbled Potter.

Neville gazed at him blandly.

"Last part, huh?" asked Hermione with forced lightness. "I don't suppose he'd make himself useful to the point of telling us what to expect?"

"Ah, well, you know him," chuckled Neville. "But, he did say that he's taken care of the stupid fireflies as well as the thrice-damned swans – actually, he went and really cursed them with three different epithets – so 'even we' should be able to get by, in his oh-so-mighty opinion."

"Typical..." grimaced Potter.

"But what does it mean?" asked Hermione, bewildered.

Potter was already swinging the small door open and peering inside. A cacophony of cries and calls and thumping noises blasted out of the opening with almost physical force.

"What's in there?" asked Terry, unable to stifle his curiosity.

"Frogs," was the very dry answer. "And snails and birds and quite a lot of fish..."

"Excuse me?" Terry bumped the Gryffindor's shoulder to have a peek himself.

The scene in the narrow passage beyond was about as serene and orderly as a three-rings circus in the grand finale and confusedly colourful enough to resemble a kaleidoscope.

A bunch of animals were running around in patterns of any shape, starting and leaving off completely at random, generating enough noise and confusion to give Terry a mild headache.

He bemusedly made out some apes that were throwing apples at each other, at least one goose honking and waddling in circles, fluttering bats attacking self-moving bicycles, a few frogs whose calls were so loud they reverberated over the cacophony at random intervals, some plump, soft-plumaged birds he couldn't name, and, indeed, quite a lot of fish that somehow didn't seem to need any water and were, instead, swimming in mid-air.

A toad suddenly croaked right at his feet, making him jump a foot in the air with a very undignified squawk.

_Nothing_ in the passageway appeared to be still for more than two seconds at a time and absolutely nothing kept quiet.

"Whoever designed this was certifiable," muttered Terry in vaguely horrified fascination. "Or very fond of magic mushrooms."

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Hermione, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding anything written within a five miles radium.

She was pointing to a stone slab just inside the door, where ten lines were inscribed, all of them but two glowing pulsatingly.

She rapped smartly the lower of the dulled lines: "I think this is what Malfoy meant."

Squinting, Terry managed to read: _Six sleek swans silently swimming swiftly. _It was just above _Seven slick slimy snails _sliding_ slowly,_ which in turn glowed softly above a line about_ Eight apes that ate eight apples_.

He groaned.

"What on Earth are thrushes?" wondered Potter, bewildered.

"A very common group of passerine birds," was Hermione's prompt reply.

"Oh," said Terry. Well, now he had a name for the plumpy birds, as well as the purple flowers with sharp prickles they were whacking around: _Three thriving thrushes thumping thirty thistles_ was inscribed right above_ Four flimsy fireflies fluttering fearfully over fields_.

"All right," said Potter decisively. "No point in dwindling about. I'll take this one!"

He tapped the fifth line with his knuckles and then took a deep breath: "_Five fat frogs fleeing frantically from fifty fierce fish," _he said all in one go.

The mad circus stopped abruptly, stilled in a general, unnatural pose. Frogs and fish all disappeared from the scene with a light 'pop'. While they gaped, Potter launched himself through the suddenly statuary animals and made it to the other end of the passageways with nothing worse happening than a rather spectacular stumble over a frozen goose drawing a very heartfelt curse as he got up rubbing his bruised shoulder.

The moment he cleared the furthest bat, noise exploded again and everything was moving even faster than before.

"So..." sighed Hermione, resigned. "Do you want the apes, the toads or the bats?"

Terry shrugged and went with the _Nine nice night-bats biting bikes. _Better than two-toed toads any day._  
><em>

Leaving behind a considerably less crowded but still very noisy carnival, they emerged in a small area before a closed set of double doors, in front of which Malfoy was glowering, arms crossed and impatiently rapping a foot.


	54. Fiftyfour

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize – be it character, location, idea or line – belongs to others; I may be playing with them but I make no profit from this.  
><em>

* * *

><p><em><em><em><em><span>Last time on Let the Games Begi<span>___n:_

_Leaving behind a considerably less crowded but still very noisy carnival, they emerged in a small area before a closed set of double doors, in front of which Malfoy was glowering, arms crossed and impatiently rapping a foot._

* * *

><p>"About – bloody – time!" the blond hissed. "What in the name of Morgana's tits held you up so long?"<p>

"Morgana's tits have names?" laughed Potter.

Malfoy looked at him strangely, then decided to ignore him.

He ignored Neville too. Acutally, Terry noticed that the Slytherin was very carefully avoiding the taller boy's eyes and that he tensed slightly whenever Neville made a move.

He also watched him size up him and Hermione, as if debating whether addressing a Ravenclaw muggleborn was more acceptable than addressing a Gryffindor muggleborn. Apparently, it was, because Malfoy turned to Terry and he even displayed some semblance of civility.

"Couldn't you work through the damn tongue-twisters more quickly, Boots? Surely you at least had enough sense to manage them?"

Terry blinked at the back-handed compliment.

"Well, excuse us if we actually needed time to..." started Potter angrily, then changed course mid-sentence: "Wait a second: you know what tongue-twisters are? Neville didn't!"

Malfoy motioned with a disgusted air to the doors behind him: "That's what told me their name," he said succinctly.

Above the doors, in big, loopy purple letters was painted _A thousand tricky tongue-twisters trip thrillingly off the tongue!_

They contemplated this for a brief moment.

"Whoever wrote that," commented Potter blandly, "must have been smirking _the whole, bloody time_."

Hermione nodded: "That, or else they were beaming so brightly and perkily you just know you should run, and fast..."

Terry snorted a guffaw, while Malfoy made a thoroughly disgusted noise that drew Potter's attention right back to him: "Oh, hey, but if you didn't know what they were before, how did you work through them so quickly?" he asked.

"Because I'm not stupid, maybe? It was apparent that they were activation strings!"

The boy glowered at the slur, but Hermione was not to be deterred from learning by a mere mocking tone and instantly fired questions at the blond: "Activation strings? What are those? How do they work? I've never heard the term. What do they have to do with tongue-twisters?"

"Don't you know anything, Granger?" sneered Malfoy. "I suppose I shouldn't expect much from a mu_-muggleborn,_ but still!"

As usual, he loftily ignored Potter's enraged outrage on behalf of his best friend.

"Magic is often triggered by strings of syllables or sequences of sounds and it is only natural for the human mind to try and twist them into recognizable words, to help with remembering them," the Slytherin said arrogantly. "Older spellcasting as well as many Rituals have long activation sequences and quite often they are shaped as either rhymes or strings of words containing repetitive sounds. There are some so well established ones that even low-class grannies like the Weasleys will teach their bratty grandchildren..."

Neville calmly grabbed Potter's wand arm and held it tight as the other Gryffindor fumed.

"Though _those_, of course, are more superstitions than actual magic. You know..." Malfoy went on, apparently oblivious but with a very suspicious gloating gleam in his grey eyes. "Like '_Flee from fog to fight flu fast'_ and '_May-born witches might only marry Muggles'."_

"I've never heard that last one," commented Neville lightly while the three muggle-raised stared at him incredulously.

"How would avoiding fog cure the flu?" asked Hermione sensibly.

"I suppose every culture has its superstitions," mused Terry. "And maybe it's just a funnier way to say you should stay warm and out of bad-weather."

He shrugged at her grimace. Well, it made sense. Somewhat. More than the may-birth nonsense!

"Well, whatever!" said Malfoy impatiently. "I think you've wasted enough of my valuable time for today. Let's get a move on!"

"Wait! Look!" exclaimed Potter, pointing to the ground off to the side.

"What, now?" burst out Malfoy, pivoting on his feet completely exasperated.

"There's something here – like a note!" replied Potter, quickly moving to pick it up.

"Harry, for the love of...! Can't you just stifle your curiosity for once?" grumbled Hermione.

"But it could be important!" retorted Potter reading it over. He blinked, then slumped. "Ah... never mind," he muttered, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"Well, now you've picked my curiosity, Harry," grinned Neville.

Rolling his eyes embarrassedly, Potter handed the piece of paper over. Terry and Neville bowed their heads together to read it aloud: "_If you notice this notice, you will notice that this notice is not worth noticing."_

They burst out laughing.

"Well, maybe that'll teach you something," said Hermione mock-primly.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can we _go_ now? Or do you need to indulge some other Gryffindorish rituality?" asked Malfoy nastily.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning!" scowled Terry, rather regretting that they'd caught up with the annoying Slytherin already.

Malfoy rounded on him in a fury: "I didn't get up from _any_ side of the bed this 'morning', because _there wasn't any damn bed!"_

Terry backed off two steps hurriedly. "Whoa! Chill!"_  
><em>

Malfoy sneered at him then turned around and stalked up to the double doors, whipping his wand out: "_Alohomora!_" he shouted and put such force into it, that the doors blew open.

The vast room beyond made then blink at the chaotic glare of many neon-lights. Some buzzing, upbeat background music with a groove filled the air, blending pleasantly with the overabundance of reds and blacks.

The place was scattered with tables: some were oval-shaped and covered with green baize, with padded and slightly raised edges, a few were very long and rectangular, though with rounded corners, with high edges that barely let Terry see a covering of red felt with an intricate layout of cases drawn upon it. Most however were light-blue tables shaped as half-circles, with five luxurious looking chairs each along the curve.

Flashing neon-lights were shaped as attention-grabbing shocking pink signs blaring 'Poker' above the green tables, 'Craps' above the red ones and 'Blackjack' above the blue ones.

Terry felt his jaw drop.

Around the room there were lots of accessories, such as upscale brass dustbins, kitsch fuzzy dice hanging from the ceiling, garish swag lamps in stained glass with pictures of cards and dice. And a rather lonely-looking potted plant off to the left side.

What looked like slot-machines lined the walls, their noisy, fake-cheerful tunes clashing and making the room come alive, here and there making room for huge posters representing Ace Cards.

A far corner area was a bar, complete with shining black and polished steel furniture positively gleaming under the triumph of light that was the huge, wide-spread chandelier hung above it and rows of strangely shaped bottles standing at attention behind the tall counter, their numbers multiplied dizzyingly by the mirror they were lined against.

But what caught the eye the most were the mesmerizing, galvanizing wheels patterns of the sharp coloured area rugs, which seemed designed specifically to shake them all wide awake.

They barely had a moment to take the casino room in before a shout made them turn their head sharply to their right: "Finally! You're here! What took you so damn long, brats? I was almost thinking you'd never make it!"

* * *

><p><em>AN:__ And once again I'm taking bets on who they're meeting! (Though not from mist shadow, as it was her (or his) idea, so it really wouldn't be fair.) Of course, the setting is a rather large clue...  
>Luna<br>_


	55. Fiftyfive

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine, I'm just playing with it. _

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: ...And... after over two years... I'm back to writing this! Be still my beating heart! :) I don't know how long the impetus I received at the gaming convention I recently attended will last, but let's hope it'll take me all the way through to the end, eh?_

_For those of you who still remember their guesses about their meeting Duke Devlin... sorry, no such luck. Mr. Devlin is currently enjoying the fruits of his very successful game designer career on a beachy island complete with palm trees, hammocks, and too much alcohol in girly drinks. He's that kind of man. ;)_

* * *

><p><span><em>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<em>

_They barely had a moment to take the casino room in before a shout made them turn their head sharply: "Finally! You're here! I was almost thinking you'd never make it!"_

* * *

><p>Their heads snapped to the right, to see a tall, mature woman jumping to her feet and slamming both her hands on the blackjack table before her with violence.<p>

She was definitely beautiful, thought Terry, but about as different from Ms. Ishtar as it was possible without changing species.

She had long blonde hair, falling down her shoulders in a mane of sensuous waves, alluring purple eyes and a lovely face that looked attractive even though it was twisted into an irritated scowl. And her body... Terry gulped involuntarily. Well, he had only ever seen that kind of body on certain magazines that his mother was never, ever supposed to find out about...

It didn't help that she wore a white corset so tight her breasts seemed on the verge of bursting out of it, and which her gutsy purple jacket did a very poor job of concealing.

Terry swallowed drily.

"For Salazar's sake, woman! Cover yourself! Have you no shame?"

Startled by the outburst, Terry swirled to stare at Malfoy, who looked completely incensed and also faintly horrified. The others were gaping at him as well.

"Bah!" Four heads swivelled back to the stunning woman, who'd straightened and was now glaring at them above her impressive breasts, that seemed even bigger resting upon her crossed arms. "None of my former husbands ever had any complaints, brat," she told Malfoy. "Not my fault if you can't appreciate the beauty offered to your innocent kiddie's eyes!"

She threw her blond mane back dramatically, smoothing her hands down her side sensually and thrusting her breasts out.

Terry went red to the root of his hair and beside him, he heard Potter choke on his own sputtering.

"Your attire is utterly improper!" spat Malfoy back. "Clearly your husbands were a bunch of coarse goons!"

"H-husbands?" squeaked Hermione. "Plural?"

The woman sniffed haughtily: "Yes – three, to be precise. Well, four if you want to get technical but it really doesn't count..."

"Four..." repeated Hermione weakly.

"For Salzar's sake, put on some clothes!" Malfoy cried, stalking towards her. "It's positively indecent!"

She paid him no mind and raised a finger to tap her chin delicately, looking at the ceiling in a mock-thinking pose: "Of course, the count is soon to go up once more, but I'm not sure this newest one counts either..." it all depends on whether you count the _men_ or the _weddings_, right?"

"Who cares, woman! Put this on!" snapped Malfoy in a very offended tone, thrusting at her his own cloak.

Terry found himself stifling incredulous laughter. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You're more freaked out by her attire than by the fact that she's about to marry her fifth man?"

Malfoy turned to look at him blankly: "What's so strange about her remarrying? Blaise Zabini's mother is on her seventh husband. My grandmother Druella buried two others before wedding my grandfather."

Terry stared at him, wide-eyed: "And that's ok?" Slowly, he started to walk towards the two blonds and the others moved with him.

"There's no point in widows just moping about for decades!" protested Malfoy with an unconcerned shrug. "Especially if there have been no children from the previous marriages. That would be a waste!"

"A waste!" exploded Hermione, who seemed to have suddenly recovered all her breath. "A waste! Are women nothing more than broodmares to you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You stay there and talk as if the only reason for a woman to marry was to produce a child!" she shrieked.

Malfoy frowned: "Well. It is!"

Hermione swelled with indignation: "Why, you insufferable retrograde misogynist!"

"It's the duty of every pureblood to produce a magical child!" retorted Malfoy with purported dignity. "Witch _or _wizard, mind."

"What if the child isn't magical?" asked Terry, just because.

Malfoy looked at him strangely: "Excuse me?"

"Would it be ok to remarry if you'd had a child from your previous marriage, but he or she was non-magical?"

"Squibs don't count, obviously," Malfoy said dismissively. "They're completely worthless."

"Figures," muttered Terry darkly, glowering at the prejudice blond.

"You, you... loathsome... disgusting... aargh!" screeched Hermione, fumbling for her wand, fury in her eyes.

"Oi!" shouted Potter, hands raised in the sign for Quidditch time out. "This is neither the place nor the time for this discussion."

The following awkward silence was broken abruptly by the loud sound of a fist hitting the table. They turned to their latest adversary, only to find that she had come around the table to their side... and that she had an expression as dark as a summer storm.

"You," said the prosperous woman lividly, "are the rudest bunch of brats I've ever met. To ignore a lady so!"

She flounced her blond tresses loftily again, sharply turning her back on them.

Terry had a fleeting thought that she must be very used to her charm and appearance winning her favors – or at least attention – from men, before he caught a proper sight of her backside and promptly blushed at the purple mini-skirt, so short that a good portion of her long, long legs was left uncovered by her boots, despite them being knee-high. All thoughts, fleeting or not, promptly fled him.

"Ha!" spat Malfoy, sounding disgusted. "A lady wouldn't dress like a harlot!"

She pivoted instantly, eyes blazing in fury, and slapped Malfoy's face soundly: "How dare you!"

The Slytherin cried out in pain and shock and stumbled back, half-tripping on Neville, who steadied him only to be seized and jerked harshly between the two blonds. Clearly, Malfoy felt the need for a human shield between himself and the furious woman.

For her part, she stalked off, returning to her place behind the table, and tossed over her shoulder: "Time is money, brats! Come here and play already! Or are you too chicken?" She spun around and smirked at them: "I suppose you're just little kids after all... perhaps this is too much for you?" Suddenly, she laughed, and it was at once seductive and nasty: "If you're scared now, just wait till you lose!"

Terry exchanged helpless looks with his companions.

It seemed they were about to become gamblers.


	56. Fiftysix

_Disclaimer:__ _Anything you recognize isn't mine, I'm just playing with it. __

* * *

><p><em><span><em>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<em>_

_Terry exchanged helpless looks with his companions. It seemed they were about to become gamblers._

* * *

><p>They reluctantly took position at the blue table, sitting on five of the stools ready for them.<p>

The woman abruptly lost her scowl and her impatience and became all genial smiles: "So!" she shouted brightly. "What will it be? Poker? Blackjack?... Any preference?"

The five exchanged uneasy glances.

"Does anyone even know how to play?" muttered Potter, trying to keep their opponent from overhearing. Judging from her shark-like smile, he wasn't successful.

"I know how to play poker. Sort of," whispered, quite unexpectedly, Neville. He was blushing and mortified, as if he'd done something shameful. "Seamus taught me."

"He did?" said Potter sounding outraged. "How come he didn't teach _me_?"

Neville shrugged, embarrassed: "I doubt what I learned from him would be enough here, anyway. I don't think any of us has any chance of winning at _poker_ against a _professional_ player."

"Nope," agreed Terry. "Mind you, I don't think we have any chance at any of the games. The house always wins," he said, gloomy. Then, as everybody stared at him, he added defensively: "That's what my dad always says!"

"Nonsense!" butted in the bosomy woman. "That's just what blue-noses say to keep you from having fun!"

They looked at her warily and she went on: "You should never listen to that kind of lousy, goody-goody spoilsports. Ha! Teetotalers, I'd bet - the lot of them. They never want people to enjoy themselves!"

She looked righteously upset. It didn't quite fly with them.

"Come on, kiddies," she cajoled. "Show me some courage! Make. Your. Choice." She watched them expectantly, then rolled her eyes: "This year would be nice."

"Blackjack is perhaps the simplest to learn quickly," said Hermione hesitantly.

"Of course it is!" the woman proclaimed in a sugary tone. "Blackjack is _very_ simple!"

"Yeah, right," muttered Terry with a sinking feeling.

"Anyone has a better idea? …Didn't think so. Right, then. I suppose blackjack it is," said Hermione with a sigh. "Hum. If you can explain the rules to us, that is."

"Don't you worry, you little lost lambs." She started shuffling a deck of common cards with a smug grin. "You know, I'm happy you chose this..." she shook her head nonchalantly, still shuffling, her agile hands a blur. "I'm particularly fond of this game, truly. I used to work as a blackjack dealer on a cruise ship. Ah, good memories!"

They froze.

"Ah... perhaps, on second thought..." said Hermione faintly. "Maybe... maybe poker isn't that bad an idea..."

"Do you really think it'll make a difference?" muttered Potter morosely.

Hermione shook her head disconsolately: "At least two of us know the rules already."

"Three," murmured Terry, who did, in fact, know the rules, though the closest he'd ever come to an actual game was watching movies.

"Knowing the rules doesn't really mean you know how to play," pointed out Neville nervously. "Or that you've played at all."

"Be that as it may, Neville, if you at least know something of the game than it's better than nothing, right?"

"Aw, don't be spoilsports!" cooed the woman, with an unnerving smirk. "I was so looking forward to a good blackjack tournament. It's been ages since my last!"

"Why'd you stop?" asked Terry before he could stop himself.

"Switched to Duel Monsters," she answered easily. "Much better for catching rich men. They never can resist getting challenged into dueling me!" She gave a swooning sigh as fake as a Barbie doll.

"Is that how you found your husbands?" asked Hermione, quite obviously still torn between outright disapproval of the woman and disapproval of Malfoy's disapproval.

"A few of them," she answered nonchalantly. "There were always suitors buzzing around me. Especially after I found my first Harpie Lady," she sighed reminiscently.

"Her what?" whispered Potter and Terry could only shrug, equally perplexed. At a guess, he'd say it was a card, but she made it sound as a pet almost, so he really wasn't sure.

"Most of them were pretty boring, sadly," the woman prattled on. "Mind you, they would pay good money to get a chance with me. But what can I say? A woman wants more than just cash – especially if she's made a good deal of it already." She laughed daintily. "Some of them were _so _insistent! You wouldn't believe what poor, dear Jean-Claude did just to gain my notice!"

Casting a rapid glance at them, she precised: "Jean-Claude _Magnum."_

Then, since they didn't look very impressed, she went on petulantly: "Hello? Jean-Claude 'Badass Ninja' Magnum? The famous actor? The King of Kung-fu Movies?"

Awkward silence met her, while each presumably wondered how to tell her it didn't ring any bell with a shred of politeness.

"Humpf!" she sniffed, irritated. "Uncultured brats."

"So you duelled this famous actor?" asked Potter in a painfully obvious effort to be ingratiating.

"Damn right I did, and I defeated him soundly! The he proposed to me, right there on the Duel pitch. Ha! All of his swooning fangirls were green with envy, let me tell you."

"It must have been very romantic," said Hermione in a tone that dripped with her conviction of the contrary. "Was the wedding as idyllic?"

"Don't be silly, girl, I refused him." The woman sniffed: "Who do you take me for? I told him to come back when he became a good duelist!"

They looked at her, wide eyed. "Did he?" asked Potter.

"As a matter of fact, he did." Even she sounded a little surprised at that. "And, well. What can I say? I was in a terrible state at the time, really an awful period – all Joey's fault, of course – and Magnus was so infatuated... and he _had_ become a better dueler, on the whole..."

"...So this time, you accepted him?" asked Terry, not entirely sure why he was even interested.

"Certainly not. The idiot was broke!" Abruptly, the woman slapped her hand on the table loudly and scowled at them: "Enough with the questions! What the hell, brats! Do you think we're here for an episode of Oprah's?! Stop your gossipmongering and let's get on with business!"

"Fine, fine!" said Potter, raising his hands placatingly. "So... how does this blackjack game work?"

"It's basically a comparing card game between players and dealer, from what I know," answered Hermione.

"Precisely!" agreed the woman, sitting down again. "To win, you have to create card totals which will turn out to be higher than the dealer's hand – that's me, in case you're too dim-witted to figure it out. But!" She raised a finger patronizingly: "You must never go over 21: that's busting, kiddies, and it will get you out of the game faster than you can say 'you're lovely'!"

She got a few flat looks for that, but wasn't fazed.

"Card... totals?" asked Malfoy with the slightest trace of disgust in his voice.

"Are you stupid or what?" asked the woman bluntly.

Hermione sighed: "It's about adding up all the values of the cards: the jack, queen, and king count as 10, everything else as their natural value. The sum is what you use."

"Give the girl a prize!" the woman mocked.

"What about aces?" asked Neville sensibly.

"Either 1 or 11 according to the player's best interest," replied the woman promptly.

"Oh, well, that's something," muttered Terry. It came out less sarcastic than he'd intended.

"Now, let us do things properly, hm? This is a real, casino blackjack table, and as you can see, the dealer faces the players – usually five to seven – from behind a semicircular table and – you see those markings?" she pointed at seven rectangular shapes in white print, arranged in correspondence to the seats they'd occupied. "They're called boxes. It's where you place your bets."

"Bets?" repeated Malfoy in a faint voice. "Wait. This is gambling!"

"Yes," murmured Neville, a bit hunched over.

"You're only just noticing?" asked the woman incredulously.

"Maybe casino look different in the wizarding world?" wondered Terry.

"What, pray tell, is a casino?" asked Malfoy through gritted teeth.

"It's a public room or building for gambling and other entertainment," explained Hermione.

"You mean it's a club for the low class," sneered Malfoy. "Bah. It's no wonder that woman goes around like that, if she hangs about such places."

"I don't think wizards have anything like that," explained Neville, more conciliatory. "Gambling's not really something you would do openly."

"It's not something to do at all! Not in polite society!" said Malfoy, scandalized.

"You seriously object to gambling?" wondered Potter. "Not that I blame you, honest, it's just... you argue _for _Muggle hunting. You can't possibly be opposed to something just because it's illegal!"

"It's not illegal, Harry," corrected Hermione.

"What?"

"Gambling's not prohibited in the wizarding world," confirmed Terry, who'd stolen Anthony Goldstein's copy of _You Can Get Arrested for That _by Joe Humdrumjust a few months before and incidentally discovered, among many other things, that peeling shrivelfigs in a hotel room was illegal; as was, for some reason, riding a broom around an official building more than 50 times in a single session. Wizarding law could be dumb and weird at the same time.

"It's frowned upon, though," murmured Neville.

"It's vulgar. So working-class. I can't believe you're forcing us to do something so demeaning!"

"No-one's forcing you, hun."

"Good! Then we aren't playing!" Malfoy crossed his arms, looking the epitome of haughtiness.

"Well, how do you propose to leave this room, then?" asked the woman. "Because I assure you, kid, you ain't gonna get anything from me you haven't won!"

* * *

><p><em><span>AN: The book Terry mentions is based on an existing (and hilarious) one by Rich Smith, which deals with dumb American laws. Nothing to do with shrivelfigs whatsoever; but peeling oranges is, indeed, illegal in hotel rooms (at least in LA). So's driving around the town square more than 100 times in a row... and fishing in your pijamas... and drinking beer from a bucket... and- you know what? Muggle laws can be weird as well._


	57. Fiftyseven

_Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine, I'm just playing with it._

* * *

><p><span><em>Last time on Let the Games Begin:<em>

_"Gambling's not prohibited in the wizarding world," confirmed Terry._

_"It's frowned upon, though," murmured Neville._

_"It's vulgar," sniffed Malfoy. "So working-class. I can't believe you're forcing us to do something so demeaning!"_

_"No-one's forcing you, hun."_

_"Good! Then we aren't playing!" Malfoy crossed his arms, looking the epitome of haughtiness._

_"Well, how do you propose to leave this room, then?" scowled the woman. "Because I assure you, kid, you ain't gonna get anything from me you haven't won!"_

* * *

><p>Potter sighed dejectedly: "And what is it, exactly, that we need to win from you?" he asked in a martyr's tone.<p>

She grinned evilly and straightened her pose, coincidentally thrusting her chest forward in a very distracting way; she pointed to the far side of the kaleidoscopic room: "See that little key there?"

"Uh... no?" said Hermione uncertainly.

Terry blinked, realizing he'd kept his gaze riveted on the woman quite haplessly, and obediently turned to look where she was pointing.

There was a deep green velvet curtain hiding a section of the wall.

"Right." The woman blinked at it, then gritted her teeth, jumped to her feet, stalked up to the curtain, threw it back with violence, stalked back and morphed her scowl into an alarming smirk. "_That _key," she reiterated with satisfaction.

A display reminiscent of a shooting game in a luna park was revealed, with all sorts of mostly useless and always tasteless things stacked without rhyme or reason on the overflowing shelves. An elaborately kitsch sign proclaimed them all 'prizes'.

There was, indeed, a key in there, haphazardly thrown among the mess. Gaudy, heart-shaped, as big as Terry's forearm, and looking less incongruous than it should have next to a man-sized, plushy polar bear wearing a knitted hat and a wonky toy cash register. A cheerful white tag indicated its price of 50 coins.

Typical.

They exchanged helpless gazes, then turned to her, resigned.

She smiled winningly.

"Right," sighed Hermione. "I guess we're playing after all."

Malfoy grumbled, but subsided.

"How does this work, anyhow?" asked Neville, sounding crestfallen. "Do we play for the coins or what?"

"Oh, it's really very simple!" the woman simpered. "Soul of simplicity, I am. Truly."

They stared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Just hand over the entry price and we can get started!" She held out a hand invitingly. "One dollar per chip, darlings."

"Excuse me?!"

They gaped at her, completely nonplussed.

"You want us to _pay_?"

"One dollar per chip," she repeated serenely. "Bets are paid 1:1, and blackjacks 3:2!"

"Oh, that's rich," commented Malfoy in stunned disbelief. "First we're kidnapped, then we're forced to play a number of games for some mysterious bastard's sick pleasure, and now you want us to _pay _for the privilege of being robbed by a slutty gambler?!"

The woman's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Well, tough!" he exclaimed, oblivious. "I'm not some plebeian idiot who'll waste their fortune on this kind of low-class entertainments!"

"I kind of agree with him on this," said Neville thoughtfully.

"Then stop wasting my time and leave!" shouted the woman, incensed.

"Err... we kind of... can't," pointed out Potter.

"Not my problem!" she fumed.

Silence followed, while she turned her nose up and refused to even look at them, and Malfoy and Neville kept their mulish frowns.

In a rather desperate attempt at moving past the stalemate, Potter tried probingly: "You know... you never told us your name."

The woman smirked, slanting a loaded look at him out the corner of her eye: "Flirting, little boy? My, my. How forward of you."

Despite the reddish tinge creeping to his cheeks, Potter insisted: "No, seriously. Why won't you tell us your name?"

"Honestly, Harry. Why do you even care?" sighed Hermione.

"I'm curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat," retorted the witch.

"I think your curiosity is more centered on my breasts than my name," teased the woman with a knowing smirk.

Potter went red up to his scar, but managed, to Terry's admiration, to shrug it off: "Just wondering how you ended up involved in all... this," he said with commendable nonchalance, twirling his finger to encompass the madness they'd been plunged into.

"Oh, well, that's Yugi's fault mostly. Or rather, Pegasus'. Or... well, I suppose it's all down to Pegasus' weird relationship with Yugi and his gang." She nodded, apparently satisfied by her indecisive conclusion. "So, yeah. Pretty much Yugi's fault." She tut-tutted. "Par for the course."

They exchanged dark glances. This 'Yugi' had come up an awful lot since this had all started.

"Do you know him well?" asked Hermione, trying for nonchalant. "Yugi, I mean?"

The woman shrugged. "I met the whole gang years ago, when Pegasus organized the Duelist Kingdom tournament on his private island."

"Oh, I remeber that!" exclaimed Terry, surprised. He'd been a little boy back then, and he'd never taken an interest in Duel Monsters since, but his father had followed the broadcasts rather enthusiastically. "Wasn't there a bloke who summoned a baby dragon and then used a time card to age it and make it super-powerful?" It had looked both smart and cool from where he stood, and it had kind of stayed with him.

"That was my Joey!" she squealed with a sappy smile.

"Yours?" echoed Hermione sarcastically. "Let me guess, one of your... husbands?"

"Was, at one point." She chuckled. "Might well be again soon. I did kind of accept him again, after all. We're supposed to get married again at the end of the month."

"A-again?"

"As of right now, we're divorced. Have been for over five years," she shrugged.

"Divorced? What does that mean?" asked Malfoy blankly.

The three muggle-raised stared at him.

"A divorce is the dissolution of a marriage by judgment of a court or by accepted custom. It means she's no longer married to him," explained Hermione slowly, unable to believe he really didn't know.

Malfoy, however, seemed genuinely confused: "But she's not his widow?"

"Lord, no! The bastard's alive and kicking. And as sexy as ever!" the woman sighed dreamily again. Terry rather wished she didn't. She certainly had a flair for the soap-opera kind of dramatics.

"Weird," murmured Neville softly.

"How would she do that?" Malfoy asked much louder, sounding genuinely baffled. "What magic has united, nothing can divide."

"Oh, darling," the woman purred with a self-satisfied smirk. "It's just a matter of getting the right lawyers on your side!"

"...Right," muttered Potter, eyeing her weirdly. "And you met this Joey at the tournament you were talking about?"

"Oh, who cares?" grumbled Terry. "I'm rather more interested in this mysterious Yugi."

"Yeah, how did you meet _him_?" asked Neville.

"I told you! I was invited to the Duellist Kingdom tournament! We were all there."

"Who all?" asked Hermione with a slight frown.

"All of Japan's strongest duelists!" was the proud reply. "We were invited to compete for the title of "King of Games". Except, I would have been a _Queen_. Obviously." She sighed dreamily: "The most dangerous, cutthroat, relentless competition in the world of Duel Monster!"

"Why'd you go then?" asked Potter - rather naively in Terry's opinion.

"Hello-oo! Three million dollar prize money! You would have joined as well, if you had any skill!"

"Ah..."

"Were you really good enough?" blurted out Neville.

She scowled, offended: "I'll have you know, that I made it to the semi-finals, through a 48-hours long battle royal and a number of Eliminators! And I was defeated by the King of Games himself! That's how good I am." She threw back her hair with a definite air of _'so there'._

"Wow," commented Potter, rather sincerely.

"Wait... _Yugi _is supposed to be the King of Games, right? So you were competing against him?" said Hermione, narrowing her eyes slightly.

The woman shrugged.

"That doesn't sound like a good way of starting a friendship," commented Terry wonderingly. "The way you make it sound, there wasn't a lot of sportmanship around in that tournament, after all."

Rather grudgingly, the woman admitted: "They rescued my Star Chips from bloody Panik to help me stay in the tournament, alright?" She looked away for a moment. "Very decent of them."

"So that's how you became friends?"

She sniffed. "I suppose you could say so, yes." She gave a put upon sigh: "Then there was the whole unpleasantness with the Big 5 and the virtual world and being swept up in their mad quest to rescue Kaiba, not that he deserved it, the grumpy bastard. Although Joey looked very dashing in that emerald green jacket. And even better out of it."

Terry narrowed his eyes at the mention of yet another familiar name - he had no doubt that this 'Kaiba' was the same they'd met - but before he could open his mouth to ask for more, the woman shook her head sharply, making her hair whip about, and snarled: "But that's all beside the point! Are you going to pay the entrance fees or not?"


End file.
